


Two Kinds of Steel

by occasional_boy_reporter



Category: Destiny (Video Game)
Genre: Andal Brask Feels, Bromance, Friends With Benefits, Inappropriate Use of the Light, Light politics, M/M, Mild Language, Mouth Play, Oral Sex, Slow Build, Vanguard - Freeform, corny Destiny specific jokes, how do I tag Exo/Awoken sex?, light play, lots of Ikora being awesome in the background, made up Exo anatomy, timeline skips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-13 17:03:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 55,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5710174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/occasional_boy_reporter/pseuds/occasional_boy_reporter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Commander Zavala is said to be made of steel. Cayde-6 is quite literally. That's about where the similarities end. Until both realize there are only so many ways you can unleash frustrations while held captive by your work. An understanding becomes a bet and a bet ushers in an arrangement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pre D1

**Author's Note:**

> Guess the lack of fanfic for Destiny isn't surprising given it's a shooter but here's one for the other players who keep wishing there was just a little more of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! There are many readers joining us after the release of D2 and it's important to note that this fic actually starts in the original game. Ch1 and 2 take place before the original campaign (early after Andal Brask's death) and the rest of the chapters progress with various timeskips. Titles tell which leg of Destiny each chapter takes place during. 
> 
> And, yes, I do intend to write this fic all the way through the most recent content but updates will always be slow and unscheduled because I simply do not get paid to write. Follow the links on my [tumblr](https://fox-fic-and-ink.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to help with that.
> 
> Enjoy the fic. Thank you for reading. :)

   "What sort of game does Shaxx think he's playing?" Zavala cannot help the quiet question that slips past his lips as he wanders seldom used passages of the Tower. He hesitates to call it a grumble because that reflects a level of almost childish discontent…and yet Zavala cannot escape the knowledge that, not only was that statement a true grumble, but that he has caught himself grumbling the better part of the morning. But how else is the Titan Vanguard to react to the absolutely petty nonsense that is Lord Shaxx’s proposal for the total banishment of Lord Saladin? The two Titans aren’t necessarily required to be bosom buddies- and they likely never will be again, not after Twilight Gap- but that doesn’t mean the Crucible Handler can stand before the entirety of the Consensus and call for action that shows division among Guardians. Of course Zavala had stood on his former mentor’s behalf. Lord Saladin is as vital to creating generations of strong guardians as Shaxx, after all. The following debate had taken the better part of the Consensus meeting before being tabled in favor of more pressing discussions. Even with Saladin temporarily safe, Zavala fears siding with his old teacher may have already caused the beginning of another rift; a rift between Shaxx and Zavala.

   Zavala has heard it both whispered and boasted that he is made of steel. Steel may be known for its strength but it can corrode when faced with an onslaught of the elements. In the wake of their most recent loss, the strange normalcy of life as a Vanguard is only now beginning to reassert itself but Zavala cannot deny this most recent incident with Shaxx is the thing that really has him flaking around the edges. It’s a delicate balance to maintain between the factions, the Vanguard, and city officials. If Shaxx is going to take this disagreement at the Consensus meeting personally, it could disrupt military proceedings on a grand scale and endanger the City's safety. A fully-grown Cabal couldn't lean on Zavala quite so heavily.

   Ikora would have been a welcome addition to the meeting with her intolerance of nonsense and talk so straight the edges of a monologue could cut but she agreed to stay in the Tower and run the daily affairs. As for Cayde-6, Zavala knew better than to bother extending an invitation to the new Hunter Vanguard for what the Exo would surely deem an agonizingly boring waste of time. It's true that Zavala does not know the Exo well. The Hunter's appointment to Vanguard is fairly recent and has only come about due to the sudden and regrettable loss of Andal Brask, but Zavala is nearly convinced that wanderlust and tomfoolery are the things that rule Cayde-6's behavior. No, better for Zavala to act as the Vanguard's sole representative and suffer the bureaucratic drudgery of Consensus meetings alone than to drag a kicking and screaming Cayde-6 into the mix.

   Ikora had asked Zavala, upon his return from the meeting, if he was ill. But when Zavala had answered in negative, she did not continue to mother him…despite the fact they both knew Zavala hadn’t given the whole truth.  Not that further coddling was either a habit of Ikora’s or a viable solution. There is no cure for what Zavala has. The creeping corrosion of his patience, his spirit, can only be delayed with battle plans or shunted aside by actions. But there are no grave campaigns to be plotted today and this is why he finds himself taking a stroll about the Tower after only giving Ikora the briefest request to call him if anything world-shattering develops.

   The shutters are down until the next time Lord Saladin returns to preside over the Iron Banner, barring the way into the Traveller’s Walk via the open stairs beyond the bounty board but there are many ways to get around that the average Guardian may never be privy to. Zavala takes one such secreted route through dim service tunnels and emerges into the open air where only Lord Saladin (and once in a great while, Petra Venj) claims a space. Already the fresh breeze has lifted Zavala’s spirits. There’s something freeing about being out of the Hall of Guardians, something relieving about being utterly alone.

   Until he realizes that he isn’t.

   A single figure is already stretched out on the white tile floor near the rear railing, sniper rifle almost doubling his length. A familiar black and red cape settles over his back, only barely catching in the wind. It's the same Andal wears...wore. The sight hits Zavala a bit harder today than it might any other.

   “Cayde-6! What are you doing out here?”

   The Exo raises a single leather-encased hand in an irritating command for silence before pointedly tapping the air next to his sniper rifle. “I’m taking a walk in the woods, obviously.”

   It takes the Titan Vanguard a moment to truly catch the meaning. When he does, he tries not to scoff at the absurdity of it.

   “That’s…” Zavala wants to say ‘sad’ but settles for, “…unorthodox.”

   This isn’t even the first time Zavala has witnessed the new Hunter Vanguard staring out over the trees and mountains beyond the Tower with the aid of a long-range scope. He’d always assumed the Exo was checking for holes in the perimeter defenses. But the use of a deadly weapon to ‘take a walk’ is far more like the Cade-6 that Zavala is coming to know; the Cayde-6 who engages in word games with Ikora Rey even though all previous attempts point to him losing, the Cayde-6 who once held Master Rahool’s microscope ransom and backed up engram decryption for hours, the Cayde-6 who throws himself into full-on prank wars with Amanda Holliday until Arach Jalaal storms into the Hall of Guardians to demand ceasefires. The mandatory confinement to the Tower that comes with the position of Vanguard has been taxing to all who grace the position at some point or other. Of the three current Vanguard, Cayde-6 has unarguably been hit the hardest. And Zavala isn’t sure how much ‘grace’ Cayde-6 may have had to begin with.

   Zavala, however, did not choose the isolation of the Traveller’s Walk to think about the Vanguard’s most outgoing member. “I was hoping to be alone up here, Cayde-6.”

   “Yeah?” The Exo mumbles distractedly. He still hasn’t taken his eyes off his scope. “Well, come join me in the woods. Pretty quiet there. And you can drop the '6' part. Most Exos prefer not to use the number. Grab a spot on the tile, Zavala! Should be funny to see the Titan Vanguard crawling around on his belly with a rifle.”

   Zavala’s composure disintegrates like a Thrall caught under a Fist of Havoc. “Forget it! I will seek what I need elsewhere!”

   “Whoah!” Cayde-6 finally tears his gaze away from the woods and even rolls onto his side, the arm not supporting his gun drifting up in an almost helpless seeming shrug. “Hey, hey! Easy there. What’s got a rock like you crumbling at the base?”

   Despite the teasing words, the Hunter’s tone carries a surprisingly sincere wish to know that has Zavala dragging his feet to a stop. Though the way the Hunter then summons the Awoken male, head tilted expectantly and fingers curling in a 'come here' motion, is enough to pull Zavala’s face down in a hard scowl. Andal may have gotten away with such familiarity but just barely.

   “Seriously,” Cayde-6 continues with a hint of plea that’s probably amusement in disguise. “I know it sounds stupid, but this is about as close to freedom as it gets. Come join me.”

   “No,” Zavala growls. A growl, he swears, not a grumble. And certainly not a pout. Cayde-6 knows nothing but jokes and Zavala is in no mood to be made fun of so the Titan turns to exit the way he came.

   Zavala’s hand rests on the hidden latch for the door the same moment the distinct _thwoom_ of a discharged sniper round reaches his ears. The door sparks and Zavala jerks away in surprise. On the tail of surprise…rage. “Are you insane?”

   The Titan Vanguard whirls around to find Cayde-6 standing and shrugging near the balcony, sniper rifle secured in both hands but blessedly pointing at the floor now. The Exo has the nerve to be cheeky. “Got your attention.”

   “And what if you’d missed?” Zavala demands as he stalks across the way with every intention of jerking that rifle right out of mechanical hands.

   “Oh,” Cayde-6 chuckles with a certainty that boils Zavala’s blood, “I never miss.”

   “I suppose ricochet never occurred to you. I’m not wearing a helmet!”

   “Which gives a nice, clear view of that vein throbbing in your forehead.”

   Most Guardians would have the sense to back down with a Titan and a Commander barreling down on them but Cayde-6 apparently possesses none of that sense and remains right where he is as more than six feet of angry Awoken leans into the Exo's personal space.

   “You could have killed me!”

   “Your Ghost would have brought you back,” the Exo points out blithely, his glowing eyes only appearing brighter in Zavala's shadow.

   “This is not another one of your games!” Zavala makes a grab for the sniper rifle but the Exo pulls it quickly out of range and shields the weapon with his body.

   “Careful!” The Hunter Vanguard squawks, half surprise and half reprimand. “Wouldn’t want this puppy to go off again.”

   “You have _more_ ammo in there? Guardians are not to expel live rounds on the Tower, Cayde-6! That shouldn’t even be loaded,” Zavala snarls as he makes another measured but insistent grab for the weapon.

   "I told you to drop the number!"

   With a dramatic flair, Cayde-6 twists from Zavala and tosses his rifle into the air where it dissolves in a crackle of blue light-instantly transmatted far away by the Ghost that appeared just as suddenly over the Hunter’s shoulder. The display is as impressive as it is infuriatingly childish! Cayde's Ghost disappears into safety before the Titan Vanguard can demand it turn over the offfending weapon. Just because the rifle is gone, does not mean this confrontation is over. Zavala only now realizes his hand has wrapped around the Exo's leather-clad bicep and the Titan shakes it furiously. “This is absolutely no way for a Vanguard to act! We don’t get to run around shirking duties and breaking rules. We cannot give or receive special treatment. We are to be above the influence of others, dedicated to the consideration of the greater good. Do you understand that this is a serious position with serious expectations and consequences? Every civilian in the city and every Guardian in this system is counting on us to be paragons who do not know what it means to fall!”

   Cayde-6’s own hand wraps around Zavala’s arm in a mirror stance but the Exo’s grip is not crushing in the way Zavala knows his own to be. The Hunter squeezes just once- barely noticeable through the Titan’s thick, red bodysuit.

   “Yeah,” Cayde-6 whispers in a way that forces Zavala to really listen or miss it entirely over the rush of blood in his ears, “that’s a lot to put on any one person.”

   Zavala flinches when he searches and finds nothing but sincerity in the grim, straight set of the Exo’s faceplates. He thinks he knows enough of the mechanical beings to even read amusement in the bright, backlit eyes but there is none of that either.

   “That’s why there’re three of us, Zavala. And the fact that I don't want to be here, doesn't mean I want to be bad at my job. So try inviting me to the next meeting, alright?" 

   Shame burns through Zavala and he withdraws his hand from Cayde-6 as if scalded by the cool leather. He has lost more of himself than he thought to allow such an outburst. “That was…I apologize. I should not have…”

   Zavala gestures vaguely to Cayde-6’s person but cannot quite meet the Exo’s gaze. To physically attack another Guardian outside the agreement of the Crucible is an unforgivable lapse of control and one Zavala had not considered himself capable of since putting the arena behind him.

   “Trust me, Big Guy,” the Hunter pats the oversized shoulder guard on the Titan’s left arm- cheekily familiar yet still distant enough to resemble something like decorum, “I let you have that one. If I wasn’t ok with being touched, then you wouldn’t have come close.”

   Despite the disgrace of his earlier lapse in composure, Zavala’s back straightens at Cayde-6’s boast. Hunters may be more agile by nature but Zavala has ended many a Bladedancer's spree in the Crucible with nothing but his fists and concentration of Light. But before Zavala can open his mouth in some half-considered retort, the Hunter Vanguard breaks the moment with an exaggerated stretch and a disappointed sigh.

   “Space is yours,” Cayde-6 calls over his shoulder as he beats a leisurely retreat for the same secret door Zavala used. “Let me know when you’re ready to talk about all that junk that’s bothering you. Could stand to unload a little myself. But you strike me as a guy who could use some distance right now and Ikora’s probably wondering what’s taking me so long to get her drink. She strikes me as the 'silent but wildly impatient' type.”

   Zavala nods slowly but the move has very little to do with the assessment of the Warlock Vanguard and he finds his spirits light enough to offer something like a joke. “You're new and she likes you. Better pick up the pace unless you want to see how she treats those who dare disappoint her.”

   Cayde-6 offers a salute, perfectly executed and still somehow mockingly casual, before offering a respectful goodbye. "Commander."

   "Vanguard," Zavala returns and finds the word is not as bitter as it might have been only moments before. Maybe there is something yet to discover in the new Hunter Vanguard.

 


	2. Pre D1 .2

   “Don’t you see that Dead Orbit has done this _deliberately_?”

   Executor Hideo’s incredulous outburst is the thing that finally has Zavala raising a hand to rub at the ache building in his head. Luckily, no one else at the monthly Consensus seems to notice the Commander’s exhausted tell because all eyes are trained on the two men sharing- or more accurately, competing for- the floor.

   Arach Jalaal sputters in that near-wheezing tone of his as if gravely offended by Hideo’s accusation. “Deliberately? But how could we have known New Monarchy’s plans?”

   In retrospect, Zavala should have known this meeting would end in trouble the moment he walked in and saw Dead Orbit’s choice of representative. Arach Jalaal is the man the faction sends when they need someone with the uncanny ability to project total innocence in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary.

   “New Monarchy has been planning this rally for months,” Hideo’s patience is already thinner than a helium filament and he doesn’t even bother to look at the Arach as he seeks to convince the council at-large that this is some deliberate attempt to derail his faction, “and the _very day_ I am to propose the event, Dead Orbit just happens to request the _same_ space in the city at the _same_ time for another one of their recruiting events!”

   Zavala breathes in deeply but refuses to let the air escape in anything that might resemble a sigh. He almost longs for the days when the Consensus spent its time allocating resources in the face of the threat that was the rising Darkness in the Black Garden. Now they are reduced to squabbling for platforms from which to deliver speeches meant to sway and, in some fashion, divide the City’s people and its scarce resources. Zavala keeps a list of the all things that could destroy the last safe city on Earth. Division from within seems to steadily climb higher on the list.

   A yawn to his left tugs at Zavala’s attention but he steadfastly ignores it. He knows very well who’s sitting just to his left and they both know that Exos do not yawn unless it is a deliberate act. Zavala does have to admit that the mimicry is right on point- a very convincing yawn if Zavala didn’t know better. He simply wishes that the Exo would stop using it as a ploy to grab his attention during these meetings.

   His neighbor yawns again, this time even more deliberately and obnoxiously. Zavala tightens his jaw and refocuses on the two factioneers. Jalaal remains perfectly cool as he refutes Hideo’s claims of Dead Orbit spies within New Monarchy. Zavala would not be surprised to learn that were true. Dead Orbit has been known to bend and even break a rule to suit their agenda. Espionage is certainly not something Dead Orbit would consider beneath them.

   This time, Zavala hears the tiny creaking of a chair as his neighbor shifts in closer and the Titan whips his head to his left determined not to let this juvenile act continue. His stern stare seems to catch Cayde-6 off guard and the Hunter remains poised for just a second with his mouth hanging open in preparation for what was sure to be the most over-dramatized yawn yet. Zavala keeps his own mouth clamped firmly shut but he knows his eyes are screaming ‘ _what do you want?_ ’

   Cayde shrugs lightly, as if he hasn’t been trying to steal Zavala’s attention for the last three minutes, and nods downward. Zavala’s gaze flicks down long enough to take in the deck of metal-edged cards expertly fanned between the Hunter Vanguard’s gloved fingers in a silent offer. _Take a card, any card._

This is Cayde’s third Concensus meeting and each time the Hunter Vanguard’s behavior is the same. Cayde sits quiet and attentive for the first fifteen minutes. By the end of the first half hour, he is only pretending to listen- facing whoever has the floor but letting his blue-lit eyes wander like he’s chasing dust motes in the air. Soon his fingers start drumming against legs that are constantly shifting. If a discussion on the floor turns into something a little more heated, Cayde breaks out his deck of playing cards.

   The cards must be a precious possession given the almost delicate way Cayde handles them. At the first hint of a raised voice, Cayde slowly slides the deck from its protective sleeve. The sleeve itself is a polished and flashily engraved metal which only cements Zavala’s assumption of their value. Cayde then lays several out on the table in front of him in neat descending piles. Zavala has yet to figure out what the game entails. It looks like solitaire- a game Zavala only knows because of its raging popularity among Hunter scouts- but there seems to be no rules or logic to the way Cayde plays it. The cards simply sit in front of him. Long stretches of time might pass before he adds another from the deck or moves a card from one pile to another. Whatever the game is, it proves incredibly effective at distracting Zavala from tasks at hand.

   The cards are old but this, Cayde's attempt at a card trick mid-meeting, is new behavior. Not encouraging behavior either. Perhaps it's time to suggest that Cayde remain in the tower from now on considering he still can't seem to take this seriously. The Titan looks from the fanned deck to the mechanical man-child holding it and lets his eyes do the reprimanding before turning back to the meeting just as the Speaker blessedly decides to intervene and wrangle things back into less hostile territory.

 

_____________

 

   “Well, I’d say that was the best one yet!” Cayde seems almost giddy, but not in the ironic way Zavala would expect, as they finally escape the suffocation of the Consensus Meeting Hall.

   “That is one of your poor jokes, isn’t it?” Zavala asks just for clarification. His brow seems to be stuck in a permanent furrow and he reaches up to forcibly smooth it and hopefully lessen his massive headache. It never serves him well to linger after a meeting and, today especially, Zavala knows he doesn’t possess the patience to deal with any extracurricular nonsense from the factions or even endorsement deals from the foundries. He glances around for his cab.

   Zavala has an ongoing deal with a cab owner. The man picks Zavala up at the base of the Tower each month and waits outside the Consensus Hall to facilitate the Commander’s quick getaway. But for reasons Zavala cannot fathom, the cab and it’s driver are nowhere to be seen.

   “Naw, I’m serious,” Cayde laughs and Zavala had almost forgotten the Exo was there.

   “That was the least productive meeting we’ve had in the last year,” the Titan grumbles under his breath as he makes a bewildered circle in search of his ride.

   “Maybe for you…”

   The Hunter Vanguard lets his statement hang just like that; a baited piece of conversation. Zavala sighs as he sets his feet in the direction of Tower. It’s not a horrifically long walk and it’s favorable to catching a ride with any of the men and women he just spent the last three hours with. Naturally, he comes to terms with the fact that he’s not shaking Cayde as long as the Exo has something to say so Zavala doesn’t object to the Hunter keeping pace beside him. But the Commander is also too tired to play Cayde’s game so he just asks. “What made it so productive for you?”

   “I finally got them all figured out.”

   Zavala doesn’t have to ask this time. Cayde’s hands are already moving, which means talking will follow shortly. Cayde’s cards appear as if by magic, spread in a perfect fan and directly in the Titan’s face. Zavala jerks to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk, his vision totally obscured by reds and blacks. He’s not sure how the Hunter manages to be there every time the damn around his frustration crumbles but Zavala is beginning to suspect the Exo does it on purpose.

   “Cayde, I’m not interested in your card trick!” Zavala ducks under the Hunter’s arm to continue.

   “Oh, come on! I’m trying to make this interesting.”

   Zavala does not stop. Cayde can stand in the middle of the City all day and be perfectly content away from the Tower but the Awoken prefers the protective neutrality of the Hall of Guardians. After all, it’s only a matter of time before Executor Hideo emerges from that meeting hall with a politician’s smile on his face and New Monarchy’s agendas on his mind. Zavala is not equipped to politely rebuff offers of kingship today.

   “It’s not a trick!” Cayde protests as he plucks a card from the fan and shows it to Zavala. “Look, the Ace of Spades is the Speaker. It looks a little flashier but an ace is still an ace. He’s totally neutral, nothing to worry about in the terms of the Consensus. But here-”

   Cayde tucks the Ace of Spades back into the deck and picks out the queens of spades, diamonds, and clubs.

   “-here we have Dead Orbit, New Monarchy, and Future War Cult.”

   “Why are they queens?” Zavala allows himself to wonder aloud.

   “Ever heard of a ‘drama queen?”

   “Ah.”

   “Let’s start with FWC.” Cayde returns the other queens and hands the Queen of Clubs to Zavala who takes it hesitantly even as they continue to walk. “Now Crux/Lomar’s real big into rocket launchers so they’d be natural supporters of the faction looking for the biggest explosions...”

   Cayde begins to offer Zavala the One of Clubs, apparently representing the Crux/Lomar foundry, before abruptly slipping it from Zavala’s grasping hand and shuffling it back into the deck with some kind of fancy one-handed cut.

   “...at least that’s what any rational person would think. Except, Future War Cult buys most of its weapons and supplies on credit and Crux/Lomar is all about getting paid _well_ and getting paid _now_. Which is incidentally why a Gjallarhorn is so incredibly rare but that’s a whole nother barrel of fish. So, in reality, Crux/Lomar never supports a motion made by the FWC. Now, Omolon’s reps on the other hand-”

   “I don’t believe this,” Zavala mutters as it all slowly clicks into place. “It isn’t a game you play; you’ve been mapping out allegiances.”

   Cayde shrugs like it's nothing but he retrieves Future War Cult's card with a little flourish and Zavala gets the distinct feel that the Hunter is beaming. “I know the Consensus is supposed to be fair and impartial grounds but everyone has their own interests to look after. Now I can more or less see how every vote’s gonna go.”

   “I’m impressed,” Zavala finally admits. Ikora probably knows the same trends but Cayde doesn’t have a whole network of intelligence seekers. As far as Zavala can tell anyway. A darker concern worms its way into Zavala’s thought process. “And what exactly are you going to do with this information?”

   “Nothing horrible, obviously. Or at least nothing obviously horrible.”

   “Cayde-6…” Zavala lets the severity of his tone and the long-unused number act as warning.

   “Really? If I was going to sway votes, I wouldn’t be letting you in on this.” Cayde responds with seemingly perfect honesty as he shows off with a couple more trick cuts. “Although…I have been thinking an awful lot about officially sanctioned sparrow races recently. If I wanted to make that happen, the first step would be to get Hakke on my side...”

   Cayde continues to outline his ‘entirely hypothetical’ plan using card after card and the Titan Vanguard finds himself only half listening as he turns something over in his head. One of these days Zavala will either go insane from the emotional whiplash or become accustomed to the impressive duality of Cayde’s flippant jokes and almost lethal effectiveness. He suspects it will be the latter. Already, he feels something like pride warming him from the inside each time Cayde reveals a new card accompanied by some insight that Zavala himself has not considered.

   “Am I one of your cards?” Zavala immediately regrets interjecting the question. His curiosity is genuine, it just sounds incredibly self-centered. But light spills from between Cayde’s metal lips as they part in an Exos’ smile.

   “Oh, yeah.” He searches for one particular card in the deck and offers it to Zavala face-down.

   The Titan Vanguard isn’t sure why he hesitates to flip it over. Something about Cayde’s laugh makes him think there’s some trick in this. But they’re only cards. He’s being ridiculous to think there’s any weight to a piece of paper and an image Cayde has assigned to represent him. Zavala snorts softly at himself before flipping the card.

   The King of Diamonds.

   Cayde nods as if reaffirming his choice. “An important man with a hard exterior, forged under extreme pressure. Pretty accurate, wouldn’t you say?”

   Instead of answering Zavala clears his throat. “Do you have one for yourself?”

   It's Cayde's turn to hesitate. After a beat, he reaches for his protective case and his next card choice. It stands to reason that Cayde’s card would not be with the rest of the deck. He doesn’t need to keep track of where his own allegiances lie. But then why have his own card at all? Just one more mystery involving the strange Hunter. When Cayde finally reveals his card, Zavala smiles outright in a way he doesn’t often.

   “The Joker?” It seems too fitting, really, given Cayde’s habit of finding amusement even where it would not strike Zavala.

   “No, not just the Joker,” Cayde corrects with another bright smile that carries a little something mischievous, “The wild card. The trump card.”

   Zavala’s face is frozen in something twisted between a warm smile and disbelieving smirk before an actual laugh escapes him. For a moment he thinks he may have insulted Cayde’s honest assessment of himself but then a muffled series of throaty clicks proves the grand claims are just another of Cayde’s jokes. Zavala shakes his head good-naturedly and slaps the King of Diamonds back into Cayde’s outstretched hand.

   “Let’s get the hell out of here before the rest of the court finds us,” Cayde suggests lightly.

    Even though amusement still lingers, Zavala finds himself huffing in frustration. "I _had_ a cab."

   "Yeah, not anymore." Cayde offers his best pained look. "I watched a New Monarchy gal slip your cabbie a little something after you got out. But if you wait long enough, I'm betting Executor Hideo's got an open seat with your name on it."

   The unspoken accusation that New Monarchy bribed Zavala's cab driver so that they could create an opportunity for private conversation between the Executor and Commander hits Zavala like a Hobgoblin line rifle to the chest.

   "Then we take the long way home." Zavala grits his teeth and takes a turn for the first side street.

   For his part, Cayde seems more than pleased by the prospect. "Hey, Zavala, you want to see an actual card trick?"

    "No. Well...maybe."


	3. D1: Vanilla

   Zavala’s gaze flickers once more to the stairs at the mouth of the Hall of Guardians.

   Still nothing.

   He spares a look to Ikora then. The Warlock Vanguard silently flips through displays on a handheld as if the silence falling over the Hall that gnaws at Zavala has no effect on her. Well, if Ikora is not concerned then what excuse does Zavala have for the almost persistent itch he feels at the base of his skull? He does not need to check the length of the war table to his right to know the oversized map and a scattering of flexible data scrolls remain untouched today. The same as yesterday. Then again, he wouldn’t put it past the Hunter Vanguard to somehow slip in unannounced as if he’d never been missing.

    “Do you expect him to blink into existence?” Ikora carries just a hint of amusement as she shoots Zavala a look over the top of her handheld.

   “He does favor that move,” Zavala mutters absently and forces himself to look away from the Hunter’s usual spot.

   “He’ll turn up when he’s ready.”

   The Commander scowls. “And we’re going to let him get away with that? Two days sulking around? Technically, he could be considered AWOL.”

   “No,” Ikora lays out the single word; quiet, because she knows whispered words can hold more power than a roomful of angry roars, and cold in a way that builds an icy wall against rebuttal. “I gave him leave.”

   Any member of the Vanguard, along with the Speaker’s blessing, may grant another member temporary leave. Ikora Rey has only acted within her power. Yet the Awoken Titan fights to stamp down the fire kindling in his chest. Zavala is not angry with Ikora, he knows this. Neither does he think he’s altogether angry with Cayde-6. But he cannot deny the heat, the utter pressure that makes his cuirass feel a vice each time he is reminded that Cayde has slipped into solitude without so much as a mutter to Zavala. Still, there is nothing and no one for him to logically lash out at. That lack of direction twists his anger and redistributes it into the furrow in his brow and the prickle at the back of his neck.

   “So we’re to wait it out?” Zavala punctuates his frustration with a fist to the table that is not entirely intentional- something he felt urged to do, intelligently aborted, and instinctively carried out anyway. If he’d struck with true intent, they’d probably have to requisition another table.

   Ikora doesn’t bat an eye as the sealed scrolls skitter across the heavy glass top of the war table. She even waits for the items to come to a natural stop before fixing Zavala with a stare that any Warlock knows to fear and even Zavala has a healthy respect for. “You did not see his face when the reports came in. Let him be.”

   So like a Warlock to flout their superior knowledge of a situation. No, Zavala hadn’t been there the moment the news came in, the moment six Guardians finally emerged from the pits of tech and time itself after hours of radio silence to report the defeat of Atheon and the first real crack in the Vault of Glass. Any Guardian who’d ever met Cayde-6 had surely heard of his utter fixation on the Vault. The Exo could go on and on about his theories and observations and crow about the day when he would shatter the Vex hold. If Zavala had been in the war room, he certainly wouldn’t have allowed Cayde-6 to slink away and lick imagined wounds to his pride just because an entire fireteam got to the Vault first.

   “Where are you going?” The Warlock’s question sounds suspiciously like ' _I told you no’_ as Zavala’s heavy footsteps mark his progress across the Hall of Guardians.

   “To retrieve Cayde.”

   Zavala has not forgotten the exchange months ago in the relative isolation of the Traveler’s Walk. If Cayde thinks he can give advice and then avoid it himself, he has another thing coming.

   “Well, by all means,” Ikora’s whispered sarcasm nips at the Commander’s back, “I’ll just be here then.”

 

************

 

   Finding Cayde’s room shouldn’t be difficult but the Hunter has a habit of switching quarters with random Guardians once every few months- something to do with his inability to sit still in general, no doubt- which makes locating the Hunter Vanguard within the Tower’s many levels something of a quest rather than the simple task Zavala had envisioned. The last two rooms Zavala knew to house the Exo are now apparently occupied by a human Hunter and a Titan, both of which seemed more than a little surprised when Commander Zavala of all people showed up at their doors unannounced.

   _‘Is this about the Black Shank on Venus?”_ The human Hunter almost seemed to cringe back into his hood. _‘I swear it’s a harmless prank. Unless this is about the sparrow jousting...which wasn’t my idea!’_

   ‘ _No, Sir, I haven’t seen Cayde recently.'_ The female Titan had tilted her robotic head in consideration. _‘Are you sure he hasn’t, ya know, finally flown the coop?’_

After the first two attempts, Zavala looks to his Ghost, Athena, pointedly.

   “Yes, of course.” The usually pleasant voice of his companion is tempered with the same annoyance Zavala feels and the spined shell swivels to and fro, shaking its metaphorical head. “Scanning for Cayde-6’s life signature now.”

   “Thank you.”

 

************

 

   The third time proves to be the charm and Athena’s scans are only further validated by the sight of Cayde’s Ghost resting on the floor in front of what must finally be Cayde’s door. The light of the Ghost’s central core flickers suddenly in recognition and Cayde’s Ghost rushes to Zavala, triangular panels rotating furiously.

   “Oh, thank the Traveller! Someone reasonable!” Cayde’s Ghost has always struck Zavala as somewhat of an odd, little creature. How such a sense of drama and offense can come from such a tiny shell seems quite the mystery. And it speaks…far more than any creature probably ought. “He’s locked himself in there and every time I transmat myself through the door, he throws me right back out! I’m only trying to help but he’s being absolutely insufferable. Which is to say, he’s being rather like his usual self only somehow _more_ infuriating.”

   The little thing seems positively worn out. Marion, Zavala recalls is the Ghost’s name. Zavala offers his hand as a perch, a gesture he knows to comfort his own Ghost and Cayde’s floats to his palm quite willingly. Instead of hovering there, Marion lands and flops gracelessly onto its side and doesn’t bother to realign its single optic in what can only be a dramatic protest against further dealings with an errant partner. Just above Zavala’s shoulder, Athena’s core gives an almost imperceptible roll even as the frame tilts toward the ceiling- the affectation of an eye roll that Zavala hopes the Ghost hasn’t picked up from him.

   “Cayde, it’s Zavala.” The force of his fist against Cayde’s door has the Ghost in his palm rocking. “Open up.”

   “I’m not here,” a voice calls back sounding thin and tired through the door.

   Marion makes an incredulous ‘tsch’ noise though Zavala’s not sure how considering a lack of teeth and tongue.

   “It wasn’t a request, Cayde. You’ve secluded yourself for nearly two days. You have duties to attend to.” He glances to the Ghost in his palm with its eye focused firmly on Zavala’s face now. “And you’re worrying your Ghost.”

   “I’m not worried about that ungrateful pile of tin,” Marion huffs in a clear lie.

   There’s a tell-tale shuffle of boots and the soft whip of a cloak right before the mechanisms of a lock click and the door jerks open a few inches. A leather-clad hand strikes out, snatches a very startled Ghost out of Zavala’s palm, and darts back. Zavala only just manages to get his shoulder into the space as well.

   “Hey! No!” Cayde growls as he tries to push the Titan back into the hall.

   “I’m not leaving without you or one hell of a good explanation,” Zavala vows as he manages to squeeze in a thigh as well and find the leverage to force the door a bit wider. Zavala is strong but an irritated Cayde proves to be rather tough, even with one hand occupied by a fuming Ghost.

   Cayde’s resistance seems to crumble all at once with a scoff and Zavala lurches into the Hunter’s room quite suddenly. He immediately dips in another near fall as something slides beneath his boot. Instinctively, his eyes comply to his expected downward trajectory and it takes him half a second to realize exactly what he’s standing on. Paper. And not just under his boot. Everywhere. Pieces of hand drawn maps, notes scribbled on irregular scraps, chunks of bound sheets that may have been a book before they were viciously separated from their covers; all of it spread about so that there is more fibrous material than stone to Cayde’s floor. This must be what the libraries of Ishtar looked like during the first Fallen raids.

   “What the hell?” Back straight again, Zavala’s foot now hovers just above the floor. Some of these pages look ancient, precious. Or at least they should be. Cayde seems not to care as he stalks away from the door, texts curling off his heel.

   “Did you plan that?” Cayde’s grumble is aimed at his Ghost locked firmly beneath harsh fingertips. “Traitor.”

   The Hunter extends his arm in what might have been a light toss but Marion recovers with a little twist and an indignant squawk before swirling around Cayde’s head like an angry Harpy. “I will gladly take the credit if it gets you out of this miserable room!”

   “What is all this?” Zavala demands, baffled by the chaos that is Cayde’s quarters.

   “None of your business, _Commander,”_ snaps Cayde, laying an unhealthy emphasis on Zavala’s title.

   “It’s the Vault of Glass.” Athena pipes up from in front of a wall that’s been overtaken by sheet after sheet of paper tacked together in a sort of patchwork map. “Or at least parts of it.”

   “Alright,” Cayde snaps as he brushes Zavala’s Ghost away from the unfinished sketches, “this is officially a no-Ghost zone. Everyone smaller than a soccer ball, get out!”

   Athena drifts back to her favored space above Zavala’s shoulder but not without a searing comment about the crime of bringing mechanical beings online without manners.

   “Cayde,” Zavala shakes his head as he tries to find the right words, “I knew you were fixated on the Vault but this…this is…”

   “Don’t start,” Cayde warns, his voice as sharp as his body appears tired, when he slumps into the desk chair that’s been dragged into the center of the room. The furniture seems to have been arranged for prime brooding as the Exo stares blankly at the partially constructed layout on the wall opposite the chair.

   “Are you…what _are_ you doing here?”

   “I’m…' the Hunter seems unsure himself before he finally settles for '...reevaluating.”

   The desk itself still rests against a wall, its drawers gaping and empty. Zavala had not seen Cayde’s face when the reports came in the day before from the fireteam that cracked the Vault, but Cayde’s room paints the picture of years of obsession and one spectacular moment of ruin.

   “This is not healthy,” Zavala finally manages.

   “Oh! But carrying the weight of the heavens on your shoulders like some marble statue, THAT…heh…yeah, that's healthy.”

   Zavala’s natural inclination is to strike back and he is vaguely aware of both Athena and Marion easing out of the crossfire. “I shoulder my burdens with a sense of responsibility, not dreams of glory.”

   “Glory?” Cayde spits it out as if contempt had nearly lodged the word in his throat. “This has nothing to do with glory.”

   “Then explain what has you in such a state that you lock yourself away to pout when we should be celebrating a victory.” Cayde is not a child, Zavala has come to learn, so the Commander is trying to give the Exo the benefit of the doubt. Which is hard in the face of what seems to be a classic tantrum.

   “Look, don’t get me wrong; I’m damn proud of those Guardians, and I’m going to let them know that when they come back, but the Vault…” The Hunter sinks further into the chair and he shakes his head side to side before it lolls back, an uncharacteristic exhaustion smothering his usual vigor. “I made a promise.”

   Even Marion seems to feel the melancholy now, frame inching closer to Cayde in silent comfort, single eye focused on the same unfinished map. Neither Guardian or Ghost offer an explanation but Zavala can piece events and circumstance together.

   “We should have been on that raid,” Cayde mutters.

   Cayde-6 is the kind of man who does whatever he sets his mind to- oft times with the attitude of ‘consequences be damned!’ He is not the type to make promises to himself when he can simply _do_. Whatever this promise, it was not for Cayde. As for the ‘we’ that should have raided the Vault of Glass…the room is too steeped in regrets to simply encompass Cayde and his Ghost. Besides, Ghosts do not wield pens and there are two distinct sets of handwriting sprawled across the map on the wall.

   What Zavala intends to say would be considered unkind by some. But those are often the people who only view death from afar and seldom know how to compose themselves when it comes for their own house. To say anything else would be unkind.

   “Andal Brask is dead.”

   Cayde’s shudder lets Zavala know he has hit the target dead center.

   “You honor his death by taking up his position as Vanguard. You don’t need the Vault.”

   “I do,” Cayde objects with a spark of fervor that looks a bit more like his usual self, “because there’s a difference, Zavala: a difference between honoring his sacrifice and honoring his life. There’s a difference between a vow you make to a comrade and a promise you make to a friend. The Vault of Glass is where I honor my promise.”

   This is something Zavala knows well: It is one thing to annihilate an enemy in the memory of those who have fallen in the line of duty, it is another to make sure a precious object or final message is delivered after the dust settles. But Zavala’s promises have always been small, easily accomplished in a way that seldom seems to give the proper weight to a final request. He has never made a promise to a Guardian in their prime either. Is it more difficult to carry out a promise made in the bright light of day than one made in the receding glow of a Guardian’s Light?

   Zavala takes in Cayde slumped in the middle of a sea of paper, not just years of research and transcribed hearsay, but plans and dreams and a bond deeper than anything Zavala’s ever experienced himself. Anything that resembled anger has long turned cold in Zavala's chest.

   “Ikora tells me the Vex always construct vertically. Something complex about the focus of time across planes...” Zavala shrugs a single shoulder, an action that feels strange even though he’s bid his own body to do it. He clears his throat of a strain he doesn’t care to name. “The raid team reported that the Vault of Glass is no different. It goes down for miles, far beyond even what a Ghost can scan. It's vast, Cayde. It will take years to explore and map. Even then, we may never crack all its secrets.”

   The Hunter remains still and silent for some time and Zavala wonders if perhaps he has been too transparent, if Cayde thinks his reassurances are simply meant to placate.

   Finally, the Hunter’s shoulders jump in an aborted laugh and the residual chuckle leaks into Cayde’s voice. “You're trying to tell me the Vault's not going anywhere, huh? Yeah, guess you might be right.”

   Cayde’s backlit eyes shift from the map on the wall to Zavala and the Commander can feel a change taking place. What was it Cayde had said earlier? That he was reevaluating? Zavala finds himself the subject of the Hunter’s shrewd but likely convoluted thought processes now and cannot quite decide how that makes him feel. The Commander reminds himself that is not important. What is important is that Zavala has, in a certain fashion, achieved his mission and returned the Hunter Vanguard to his proper place- even if it meant bringing him to the present time as opposed to a physical location. “Don't forget that the Vanguard isn't a life sentence; You'll get to the Vault eventually. But, tomorrow, I’ll expect you in the Hall of Guardians.”

   The Hunter Vanguard nods just once but his gaze remains tethered to Zavala. Marion lands on Cayde's knee and the Hunter strokes his Ghost with the backs of halting fingertips. “I’ll be there.”

  As so often seems to be the case with the Hunter Vanguard, a moment of something hard to describe gives way to flippancy. “I assume you can find your way out the door, Zavala. You certainly had an easy enough time getting through it.”

   Zavala recalls that was only because Cayde-6 let him. "Until tomorrow then."

   "I'm not helping you clean up this mess," Marion's voice is low but stern as Zavala sees himself out.

   Once the Awoken finds himself back in the quiet of the hallway he feels the gaze of his own Ghost intent upon him. "What is it?"

   Athena bobs in the air as if caught by surprise. "It's nothing. We should return to work."

   But there's an air of satisfaction about the little, white shell that Zavala will ponder for hours after.

 

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It just feels appropriate for Guardians to name their Ghosts after some time.
> 
> Zavala's Ghost definitely feels like she should be a little goddess-calm and cool as Zavala but with a nurturing side. Athena is a goddess of not only war but also arts and crafts. Perfect for Zavala's crochet hobby! XD
> 
> I wanted Cayde's ghost to be a little neurotic. The Hunter probably gave his Ghost daily panic attacks in the field. But to keep with Cayde's cowboy lifestyle, I figured it only appropriate to name his ghost after a legend. Marion is the birth name of John Wayne.


	4. D1: Dark Below

   “I don’t want her in the Tower, Cayde.” Zavala locks eyes with the Exo standing next to him. The Titan means business and he tries to impart that with his glare as much as the growl in his voice.

   Cayde returns Zavala’s stare evenly for a moment before he launches one of his mock sighs. Which is, incidentally, as convincing as his yawns. “It’s ok, Zavala. I get it.”

   “Good,” the Commander nods, pleased that Cayde has seen the folly of this whole situation, “then send her away.”

   “It’s her cloak right?”

   Zavala’s brow pulls tight as if gravity has suddenly increased between his eyes. Gravity increases again as Cayde’s gloved hands form two inverted 'v's and come to rest high atop both sides of the Hunter’s head.

   “Her cloak with the points that look like cat ears? You’re jealous. Totally understandable.”

   “Cayde…”

   “I mean, imagine how much more approachable you’d be with cute ears!”

   “Are you trying to distract me from the fact that you are partially responsible for bringing in this stray?” Zavala immediately regrets playing along with Cayde’s theme. It can only encourage the Hunter. “I don’t know how you convinced the Speaker to allow that…woman here but she must leave before she poisons the Tower with her rantings and delusions. I mean it. She does not belong here.”

   “Whoah there, Zavala.” Cayde protests lightly as he bends over to rest his arms against the rail in front of him. From their post at the top of the stairs just in front of the shuttered Traveller’s Walk, the two have a clear line of sight on the newly arrived Eris Morn as she finishes securing her hovering ship to the railing of the narrow walk by Tower North. “Isn’t that kinda harsh?”

   Cayde seems entirely sincere in his defense and that baffles the Commander. ‘Harsh’ is not the word Zavala would use to describe his attitude toward Eris Morn. Perhaps a combination of the words ‘wary’, ‘repulsed’, and ‘well-founded’ would be more appropriate. Zavala folds his arms over his chest and glares across the length of the Tower’s open courtyard.  Eris seems to be making herself quite at home as she captures her first prey. Two Guardians emerging from the northern wing of the Tower drift slowly in her direction- no doubt lured by the Hunter’s mutterings and the strange, glowing orb that Eris never seems to be without. The thing produces a green glow not typically associated with Light or the Traveller and that alone should be enough of a warning. It is a damn shame that agents of the Light should be swayed by the novelty of this dark arrival in the Tower. The Titan’s scowl must have worsened because Cayde apparently feels the need to speak again.

   “If you wanna be mad about this, take it up with Ikora. Inviting Eris Morn to the Tower was her idea. But don’t punish Eris for being invited someplace; something tells me she doesn’t get a lot of invites nowadays.”

   “You genuinely think I’m being too 'harsh' on her?” The Titan and Hunter Vanguards have gone nearly six weeks without a major conflict of opinions. Really, they’re probably overdue for a mildly combative exchange. Still, Zavala has almost forgotten how quickly the Exo can make his blood heat. His voice drips with incredulity. “You think I should pity her social life when she poses a possible threat to the City and the Traveller?”

   “I think you’re being an ass,” Cayde states bluntly before shrugging- almost as if the physical gesture is meant to smooth his previous insult. “Eris might give me the heebie-jeebies but she’s still a Guardian, Zavala.”

   Zavala corrects his ‘reconnaissance’ companion. “She _was_ a Guardian, Cayde.”

  “So because Eris Morn lost her Ghost, she’s no longer one of us? Is your definition of a Guardian someone with a Ghost and a gun?” Thin plates constrict around Cayde's mechanical eyes and he remains silent for just a second in the closest thing to a frown Exo anatomy offers. Cayde’s knife makes a sudden appearance, spinning through the air in a low arc before it lands back in gloved hands with a soft thump. The Hunter turns his back on Eris and leans against the rail behind him.  Zavala can feel the moment Cayde’s thoughts shift from Eris to himself and the Commander braces for whatever comes next.

   Cayde’s knife makes one more lazy rotation through the air before Cayde catches the weapon and holds it for Zavala’s inspection with the blade clamped between middle and index finger. “What if I were to lose this knife? It’s a defining piece of Hunter gear. So if I lose this knife, does that mean I’m no longer a Hunter?”

   The way Cayde tries to reduce Zavala’s well-founded concerns through hypothetical, unrelated scenarios is just shy of infuriating. “This isn’t about tools! Eris lost much more than her Ghost in that pit, Cayde. Have you ever been close enough to feel her?”

   “Hey, I may have seconded the motion to invite her but Eris and I definitely do not have _that_ kind of relationship.”

   “Have you ever been close enough to feel her _Light_ , Cayde? It simply isn’t there.” Zavala frowns his disapproval and hopes it projects all the way to Eris. It’s not as if he and Cayde are exactly hidden on their platform beyond the bounty board. Which is how Zavala wanted it. He wants the former Hunter to know she is unwelcome and that Zavala is watching and waiting for the excuse to be forcefully rid of her. Even Zur does not leave Zavala with a level of unease comparable to the cold trickle Eris inspires along Zavala’s spine. “With no Light, she is no Guardian. I’m not even convinced she is still entirely human. How could she survive in the tunnels of the Moon surrounded by Darkness and not emerge irreparably twisted by it?”

   Eris Morn tilts her head very subtly across the way and the prickling along Zavala’s spine intensifies. It’s impossible to tell, what with the cloth obscuring the upper half of her face, but it seems to Zavala that Eris is looking straight at him with those three glowing points where eyes should be. Then she smiles. Zavala resists the urge to blink and instead scowls harder.

   “Ok, so I’m not disagreeing with the fact that she’s creepy because, honestly…“ Cayde shudders exaggeratingly in lieu of a proper description. “But she wants to help. Doesn’t that at least make her an honorary Guardian?”

    “If she were anyone else, perhaps. But she is not here to help because of some better nature. She is here because she wants to annihilate the Hive and she can use our Guardians to do it. For Eris, it is an obsession beyond vengeance; it is a disease.”

   “Tomāto, tomäto.” Cayde shrugs as he continues to twirl his knife in one hand.  “Look, bottom line, Eris Morn knows more about the Hive than anyone else we've got. If her freaky, dark mojo gives us what we need to beat this ‘god’ she’s been muttering about, then that’s worth one little corner of the Tower. And you gotta admit her ship looks super bad ass floating there! It’s kinda like a Kestral Class CXO and a Hive Knight had a love child. How fast do you think that thing goes?”

   Zavala scowls at Cayde’s newest volley of jokes and heads for the nearby stairs. If the Speaker, Ikora, and Cayde have all voted to allow Eris Morn into the Tower, then Zavala does not have the power to oust the former Hunter. That does not mean he has to agree with the arrangement. Yet it seems likely that the Hunter Vanguard could go on all day trying to sway Zavala into unanimity. The Titan does not intend to waste either of their time in such a fashion.

   “Aw, come on!” Cayde continues to bubble almost obnoxiously in the face of Zavala’s sour disapproval. “So Eris is a little crippled in the charm department, that doesn’t make her a monster! You ever hear stories about her buddy Toland? That guy was a real jerk.”

   Zavala halts at the base of the stairs to fix Cayde with a hard look. “Did you intend to compare Eris to a man famous for his descent into Darkness? Because that only seems to counter your claims that she is harmless.”

   “Huh,” Cayde mutters blankly as if he had truly forgotten Toland’s horrid legacy over the fact that the Warlock was apparently not the kind of man to bring to a friendly gathering. “Is ‘descent into Darkness’ the fate of all Guardians who lack social skills? Because if that's true, then- Oh, my stars! Zavala, you could be next!”

   The Commander scoffs and brushes the Hunter’s flailing hands away as Cayde melodramatically laments Zavala’s hypothetical fall from the Light. By the time Zavala has become a Hive drill sergeant (by arm-wrestling the current reigning champion into submission) the two Vanguards have reached the first set of stairs down into the Hall of Guardians and Cayde jerks his head back toward Tower North.

   “Hold that thought,” Cayde halts his outrageous narrative and turns away from the stairs.

   “Where are you going?” Zavala very nearly gapes. Precious little can usually stop Cayde when he’s on a fictional roll.

   “I’m going to go say hello to Eris.”

   “I though she gave you the creeps.”

   “I believe I called it the ‘heebie-jeebies’ but, otherwise, yes. Then again, maybe a friendly head nod is the difference between a misfit and a monster.” Cayde demonstrates said friendly head nod to Zavala before turning on a heel. Only a few steps away, Cayde turns abruptly on the same heel so he can point authoritatively at Zavala even as he continues to walk backward. “Clear your schedule tonight because we’re going out! I won’t have a fellow Vanguard on that slippery slope of anti-socialization.”

   Zavala sputters for a moment. He does not ‘go out’. Not to mention that there’re not really many places _to go_ in the Tower and none of them could be considered _out_. Even if he did go…somewhere, it wouldn’t be an evening likely to conform to Cayde’s idea of a ‘night out.’ To object in the surely lengthy way it would take for Cayde to actually process and accept the rejection, Zavala would have to follow the Hunter on his goodwill mission…which would mean being in proximity to Eris…but if he doesn’t turn down the invitation then he’ll be subjected to whatever Cayde’s idea of socialization might be. Zavala is still debating as to which is the lesser of two evils when Executor Hideo catches his eye. The New Monarchy rep is passing the Cryptarch on a straight path from the Hanger entrance to Zavala’s current location. In the face of the greatest of all three evils, Zavala beats a tactical retreat to the safety of the Hall of Guardians and neutral grounds. Escaping a lengthy conversation about the merits of kingship is absolutely worth whatever torturous evening Cayde can conceive.

***********

   “Admit it,” Cayde cajoles overtop of the cards fanned in his right hand, “you’re having fun.”

   There’s no sense in denying it. Zavala is genuinely enjoying himself- even if he’s losing spectacularly against the hodge podge of Hunters packed around the table. Except that admitting Cayde’s right might encourage him to invite Zavala to more gatherings like this incredibly boisterous and seemingly spontaneous gathering in the Tower’s southern lounge. And while that might not be a horrible thing for Zavala’s social life, it spells certain doom for the Commander’s glimmer account. “I admit…that this evening has not played out as I had expected.”

   “What were you expecting?” Cayde very nearly shouts over the background din of a dozen voices engaged in multiple conversations. “Wild dance offs? Well, if you stick around long enough, you might see one of those too.”

   Cayde lays his cards out on the table and the Hunters groan at the four of a kind.

   “Swear he’s cheating,” a female Awoken in Dead Orbit gear mutters just loud enough for everyone to hear. Which is a pretty loud as far as mutters go because the lounge tucked away in the Tower’s south hanger is positively flooded with Guardians at the moment and everything must be said twice the volume a speaker wishes to be heard at. But the Hunters gathered round the table, apparently some of Cayde’s regular competition, hardly seem hindered by the noise or the crowd and banter flows as easily as the dealer’s cards sliding across the tabletop.

   “You think you’re losing bad now? Try playing against Holliday.” Cayde shakes his head in grudging awe. “I’m going to owe that woman glimmer until the day I die. Ya know, I could actually see her turning my corpse into the latest sparrow and selling me off. Probably the only way she’ll ever get paid.”

   The same ghost of a grin that has been sneaking its way onto Zavala’s face all evening strikes again. There’s such a strange warmth that has nothing to do with the body heat filling the small room; some kind of easy comradery that leaves Zavala feeling like his armor is made of something far less oppressive than pounds upon pounds of plasteel plating. He can’t for the life of him remember the last time he felt this light.

   “Speaking of glimmer…” one of the Hunters pipes up with a roguish grin. Zavala has decided over the course of the last two hours that a roguish grin is the most dangerous expression in a Hunter’s arsenal and even the Exos have their own version. “Why don’t we make the next round interesting with a five-hundred glimmer starting bet?”

   All eyes turn to Zavala, like the Hunters are waiting for his affirmation. He briefly weighs his options. His instinct is to of course cling to the activity and conditions that have left him in such a rare buoyant state. Another round of cards seems quite agreeable. However, he has from the beginning suspected that each hand he wins is a collective act of mercy; a mercy that has steadily been overtaken by a sense of real competitiveness that rises with the starting bet and leaves Zavala with the unsettling sense that he (and his glimmer) are becoming Hunter prey.  He shakes his head slowly to preserve as much dignity as he still can. “I’m afraid I must yield.”

   The group breaks out in raucous laughter followed by a flurried exchange of glimmer.

   “Were…you all betting on me?” Zavala sweeps the group with accusing eyes before settling on Cayde. The Exo just smiles.

   “Don’t take it personally, Commander,” a human female with what looks like a collection of Acolyte fingers strung around her neck smiles almost sympathetically. “We always bet on when new players will call it quits. Most fold at two hundred but at five, you've been officially initiated into the Hunter Lounge.”

   A quick glance around the room gives Zavala reason to believe such initiations are somewhat rare. He spies exactly one Warlock helm and an Awoken of indeterminate gender that is either a very lightly-armored Titan or a Hunter sans cloak. Otherwise, the room is a pool of whipping fabric and flexible armor.

   “I’m tired of poker anyway.” The twitchy, green-faced Exo directly across Zavala flicks the last of his cards onto the table for the dealer to collect. “You know what we should do? We should play Messenger. We have two even teams of four right here.”

   “Oh, no, no!” A human male waves his hand haltingly at the Exo. “You must need to get your head checked because we don’t have even teams. Nobody wants to get stuck with the Titan.”

   “What is ‘Messenger’?” Zavala asks, offended but not entirely sure why he should be.

   “It’s a Hunter game,” the female Awoken explains. “It would take ages to teach a Titan how to play.”

   “So go on then,” Cayde waves his hand at the crowded room beyond the bubble of their table tucked into the far end of the lounge. “The place is full of Hunters. Find some teams while the Commander here recovers from the damage you did to his wallet.”

   The Hunters snicker and disperse like a pack of wild dogs. _No, not wild dogs_ , Zavala argues in his head, _trained wolves_. Cayde watches them go with something that looks an awful lot like approval, maybe even affection.

   With the Hunter pack gone, Cayde and Zavala's little corner seems eerily quiet. Zavala clears his throat lightly to capture Cayde's attention before the Hunter can stare too hard off into the middle distance. “Are you going to tell me the point of this Hunter game or am I to assume it has something to do with cloaks and knives?”

   The Exo snorts softly before resettling in his chair. “The game started its life as a tactile form of field communication.”

   "Field communication?"

   Cayde leans a little closer, bracing one elbow against the cracked leather arm of his chair and using the other to gesture as he paints Zavala a picture. “Say a team of Hunter scouts are infiltrating a Hive nest. It’s pitch dark and if you make a sound, you’ll wake the Hive. If you wake the Hive, you’ll be overwhelmed in minutes- a complete fireteam wipe unless one of your Ghosts manages to slip through hundreds of Thrall hands. So you don’t dare use words. But there’s a scrape to your left, bone on bone. You know there’s a Knight just around the bend and you’ve got to let the team know so you use these.”

   Cayde flutters his fingers in a tight jazz hand before continuing.

   “But you can’t see anything and you can’t feel much of anything by the time the cold of a Hive breeding ground has sunk through your armor. So you push a little Light into it and…”

   Cayde draws a line down Zavala’s armored shoulder and the Titan’s eyes widen in surprise. Even through plasteel plates and a wiremesh bodysuit, Zavala can feel the path of Cayde’s finger as if the contact were skin on skin. The touch felt warm enough against his skin that surely his pauldron must be scorched. The Awoken even twists his arm to be sure Cayde hasn't left a mark on his armor but it is unblemished. “That’s incredible! How have I never heard of this?”

   “Well,” Cayde shrugs, “you’re not a Hunter.”

   “Are you saying a Titan or a Warlock cannot learn?” That offense is trying to creep back into Zavala's voice.

   “Naw, I’m sure there’s a couple out there who know how but it’s not exactly their style. I mean, how often do you send a team of Titans to sneak into a place?”

   Zavala gives the point to Cayde with a slight nod of his head. “Alright, but how does this translate to a game?”

   Cayde’s backlit blues shift pointedly to the half partition and half impromptu bar that separates the front and back of the lounge as he rises from his chair. The Commander follows until they reach the divider and an unobstructed view of the open space by the stairs where the assembled Hunters are forming two lines between a collection of amused onlookers. The players sit down in their lines, offering the expanse of their back to the player behind them. A lone Hunter, the twitchy green Exo from the poker game, remains standing behind the two vertical lines.

   “That’s the Scout,” Cayde explains as he gestures to the other Exo. “The Scout chooses a message and delivers it to both teams.”

   After a not-quite-covert glance back at Cayde and Zavala, the green Exo crouches down to whisper into the ear of the Hunter sitting on his left and then the one on his right. When the Exo returns to a full standing position, he snaps his metal fingers and both Hunters in the back burst into movement. Fingers fly over the backs of cloaks as they scrawl a series of…something. Symbols that form words Zavala can’t even begin to guess at. The Hunter seated on the right stops suddenly and the Guardian in front of him begins the frantic movement. A second later, the Hunter on the left finishes and the player in front of him takes up the action.

   "It’s a race to see which team accurately delivers the message to the Point first." Cayde flicks a finger toward the front of the lines, the Points. "The technique isn't difficult once you get the hang of it but there’s a whole shorthand system to learn.”

   “Hunters have their own language?” These really feel like things the Commander ought to know. “Would you be betraying some secret Hunter oath by teaching me?”

   Cayde shrugs and light leaks from the seams of his mouth in a grin. “Not any that I know of.”

  At that moment, the Hunter at the front of the left line springs to his feet. Though he casts a sheepish glance to Zavala and looks as if he’d like nothing more in the solar system than to sit right back down. After an extended moment of awkward expectation from the suddenly quiet room, the human male retreats back to the floor as he mutters. “Nope. I’m not saying that out loud. That’s just…no.”

   The left line groans at their Point's decision to forfeit and then breaks out into a light squabble as the message reaches the Point of the opposing team. She stands with a confident swagger and sharp, white smile splitting the light pink skin of her face. “I’ll say it. ‘Commander Zavala’s head is more blue than the balls on a fully-docked Dreg.’ No offense, Commander.”

   Zavala’s brows are still in orbit somewhere when Cayde barks a harsh laugh next to him and the whole room dissolves into laughter, some of it decidedly nervous. The green Exo offers Zavala a winking salute. Zavala slowly returns the hand gesture in a sporting acceptance before turning his raised brow to Cayde. “You didn’t tell me the language was so colorful.”

   Cayde chokes a little on whatever he intended to say in reply. 

   “I think it’s time I take my leave, Cayde. Thank you for the evening.”

   “No, wait!” Cayde manages to spit out with just a little static in the words. “Are you mad? I promise that’s how they show their acceptance. There aren’t a lot of Warlocks or Titans that visit here long.”

   “I’m not angry,” Zavala is strangely amused to find he means it. Perhaps Cayde has begun desensitizing the Titan to outrageous behavior in general. “It is late though and I’m expecting intelligence from the Moon early tomorrow morning.”

   “But the night’s not late until the morning’s early,” Cayde argues as he drapes an arm around Zavala’s shoulder and tries to steer the Titan back to the relative seclusion of the lounge’s far end. “Stay and I’ll teach you the Hunter shorthand.”

   Zavala is admittedly intrigued by the idea. Though the physical contact with Cayde unsettles the Commander enough to skew his line of thought. He really must have a talk with the Hunter Vanguard about proper etiquette. He makes a mental note to discuss it another time and slips the Exo's arm from its perch. Zavala really is expecting vital intelligence early the next day but this is important intelligence as well. A little less sleep surely won't be the death of him. "Fine. Just for a short time."

   Cayde presents the worn couch with a flourish of his hand, offering to let Zavala choose his place instead of trying to push him into one. Once Zavala settles himself into the worn furniture, Cayde surprises him by taking a seat on the low table directly across from the couch.

   "Easier this way," Cayde shrugs as he flips his cloak away from some unattended cup of liquid nearby. "So the shorthand is mostly symbols but there's a whole alphabet too. In observance of the looming threat, let's start with some basic Hive symbols."

    Cayde spreads his three innermost fingers and crooks them slightly, using the tips to drag a short distance across his own chest. "This means 'Thrall."

    Zavala nods. The three digits obviously represent the three claws of the lowest Hive. It seems so simple that it's a wonder the language is vast enough to encompass lewd descriptions of enemy anatomy. 

   "Numbers are a single digit tap up to ten so 'five'..." Cayde taps his chest with the pad of his finger five times. "Directions are just arrows. So 'three Thralls to the left' looks like this."

    Three taps, the claw, then a single finger makes a short glide from the center of Cayde's chest to his left shoulder. "So try it on me. Just put a little Light into your hand, kind of like when you're forming a grenade, and I'll be able to feel it even through my suit." 

   Cayde spins around on the table to offer Zavala his back. The Commander resettles on the edge of the seat to reach better and focusses on drawing the Light inside and around him and channeling it into the point of a single finger. This is a familiar sensation even if the pinpoint direction takes him a moment longer than the standard 'make a grenade in your fist' all Guardians are used to. When he assumes he's channeled enough Light, he taps the digit to Cayde's back and the Exo jerks away from the touch with a yelp.

   "I said 'like forming a grenade' not detonating one!"

   "Was that too much?"

   "Ugh, way too much." Cayde confirms as he rubs the spot on his back in obvious discomfort. "You wanna warn your teammate, not cripple them. You gotta be gentle. Turn around."

   Zavala hesitates for a moment, trying to figure out how the devil he's supposed to turn around on the couch and offer his back to Cayde without folding his knees to his chest or ripping the leather cushions to shreds with the edges of his armor as he shuffles. Not for first time tonight, Zavala thinks Cayde might have actually been right when he told Zavala he was a little 'over-armored' for the evening. Though it's not like the Titan has a wide array of off-duty garments to choose from. Cayde forces air through his partially open mouth in a whistling snort before patting a hand on Zavala's shoulder. "Just stay there."

   The Hunter seats himself on the edge of the table and lays his hand flat against the bulkiest part of Zavala's chestplate. "You gotta ease into it at first. Eventually you'll learn the right level. So, I guess don't think of it as forming a grenade. Think of it like...like summoning your Ghost! That doesn't have to be a full on rush of Light, it just takes a little flutter."

   A sensation like a warm breeze tickles the skin under Zavala's armor and he tamps down the impulse to flinch away from the strange pleasantness of the phantom touch. This sensation is nowhere near as strong as the Hunter's first illustrative touch but the low buzz is somehow more intense. When Zavala's eyes drift upward, he meets softly glowing blue. Cayde is watching him intently, probably monitoring Zavala's expression for signs of comprehension. Zavala is watching Cayde because...well, because what else is the Titan supposed to do with the Hunter so deep into what is usually 'personal space'? The warm breeze steadily becomes a strong patch of sun in the shape of Cayde's hand.

   "Once you have the Light spread evenly over the surface of your palm, then you can start to direct it with a little more precision," Cayde explains. He pulls his hand away slowly, first lifting the heel then rocking forward onto the ball. As each inch of palm loses contact with Zavala's chestplate, more Light accumulates into the fingers that remain as if Cayde is pouring the force from his arm and letting it pool in his digits- never increasing the amount of Light but simply allowing it to flow into a more confined space and thereby increasing the intensity. When the other four digits have slid away as well, Zavala is left with a single point of controlled heat against his breastbone; a lit match where Cayde's finger rests above five inches of plating. Zavala's own fingers tingle but it is not a sympathetic reaction of his own Light that causes the sensation- as much as the Commander wishes otherwise. Zavala uneasily flexes his own fingers and stares at the patterned scarf around the Hunter's neck. This game has taken an unexpected turn and Zavala is not sure he should play any longer.

   "Of course this thing-" Cayde flicks the match finger playfully against Zavala's cuirass and it sends a spark through the Titan's chest. "-is a helluva lot thicker than what I'm wearing so go easy on me, ok?"

   Zavala nods but keeps his mouth firmly closed and carefully reaches forward to place his palm on Cayde's chest. Before he can connect, Cayde shifts. With a flap of his cloak, Cayde resettles on the table with his legs folded in front of him and back again to Zavala. The Titan is irrationally startled, until he realizes the reaction is so strong because he had been waiting to return that physical contact; to touch and to watch Cayde's face for evidence that the heat Zavala feels is simply a common side effect of Light manipulation. Cayde has robbed Zavala of that chance by simply turning around. It's almost like cheating. Is Cayde doing it on purpose? Playing some new kind of game? The Commander's hand withdraws the same time his face heats. It's an obvious overreaction on his body's part but there's a sense of- for lack of more forgiving word- _embarrassment_ worming through Zavala's brain. He's thankful Cayde has turned if only because the Hunter can't see his face right now. Then Zavala realizes he hasn't exhaled in a while.

   He dumps a stale breath into the space between them. The only reason he doesn't lurch to his feet and march out immediately is the surety that they're too unstable to carry him anywhere at the moment.

   "What gives?" Cayde twists around to look over his shoulder after what must seem an unnaturally long wait.

   Zavala has an excuse on the tip of his tongue but the collection of Hunters at the front of the lounge burst into a chorus of laughter, their game continuing in counterpoint to the complete stop of Zavala's heart, and the words scatter in the Commander's shell-shocked brain.

   The thin plates surrounding Cayde's eyes slide open as wide as they can and the blue chin juts upward in silent demand. He is waiting. Though not patiently. "Are we gonna do this or what?"

   "Goodnight, Cayde," Zavala finally manages to force out in a moment of grace as he stands. But the Hunter is much quicker than Zavala's disobedient body and Cayde catches an armored elbow before the Titan can even take a full step toward the door.

   "You asked to learn this and you're not even going to try?" The annoyance in Cayde's voice mingles with amusement. "Sit down."

   Zavala could fight it, object, retreat. Unfortunately, so much of his concentration is caught up in keeping his face blank that he accidentally complies.

   "Come on," Cayde prompts, seemingly oblivious to the internal struggle behind him, and rolls his shoulders before leaning back- as if space is the thing keeping Zavala's hands rooted to his side! "You're not going to break me."

   Oh, but Zavala might crack. He attempts to swallow against the knot in his throat but the action only seems to tug at the clenching void in his gut. It's a _touch_. A simple, meaningless thing. Cayde has agreed to teach him a game.Yet Zavala has been blindsided by a heat and a hunger long ignored, one he doesn't dare name even in his own mind, and it's torture to find the act he's being bidden is both what he wants and what he fears to be a horrible, horrible idea. In the end, his own traitorous body and the insistent air of Cayde's expectations win. Zavala reaches out and touches Cayde.

   His palm conforms to the smooth planes of the Hunter's back and Zavala closes his eyes. He'd hoped the surface would be hard and unpleasent. Even if metal plates of the Exo's body are sharp and hard beneath; all Zavala registers is the subtle give of cape and leather, the gentle movement of internal systems that mimic heart and lungs, and the tickling of Cayde's Light as it reaches out and tries to direct Zavala's own. None of which are unpleasant sensations.

_Damn._

   _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ He berates himself even as he calls on his Light and holds it low and steady. _Control yourself._

   "You can go a little harder than that, Big Guy," Cayde coaches but he doesn't turn back to Zavala as he leans emphatically into the Commander's touch and all the noise from the other end of the room drowns so much of the words that Cayde's assurance almost reaches Zavala in a whisper. It is not meant the way Zavala's fevered brain twists it.

   Is it?

   Zavala grits his teeth hard enough to make his jaw ache but it's not enough to distract him from the feeling of a warm, solid body under his hand and the very recent memory of another hand on his own chest setting him on fire and he feels his whole body spark in need. Of all the times Cayde has willfully tried to smash through or circumvent Zavala's defenses, none of them compare to the acid bath of this 'game.' The worst part is, Zavala's still not sure if this is unintentional or if Cayde's words and actions are deliberately meant to ignite. The idea of that clever mind devoted to him is the last log for the fire. The thought of Cayde directing Zavala, leaning into touches, willing them to join...is the gasoline. Zavala's hand flexes spastically the moment he loses control.

   The Light he has so carefully maintained as smoldering embers flares searing hot in his own hand before it passes into Cayde. The Hunter arches his back around Zavala's palm as his head snaps back and they both _groan_. Zavala is the rough gravel strained with instant remorse. Cayde is the stuttering of mechanical parts and a following sigh laced with undeniable pleasure.

   The sigh is even more convincing than Cayde's best yawn.

   Blood pounds in the Commander's ears and finally makes the rounds to his legs in time to facilitate the Titan's full retreat. He scrambles off the couch so quickly that the edges of his armor clack against each other and Cayde, whose body is still caught mid-arch, tumbles back with Zavala's hand suddenly not there to offer any support. Zavala only catches the briefest glimpse of Cayde wedged gracelessly into the space between the table and couch- arms braced one on each side of the divide, eyes wide, and the light between his open lips flickering erratically- before turning away. The Titan cuts roughly through the crowd of Hunters that has fallen alarmingly quiet and does not stop until he can safely lock himself away in his room and shout at the walls words as colorful as any in the Hunter language.  


	5. D1: Dark Below .2

   The city below blurs and stretches, the streetlights swirling together with the spotlights illuminating the Traveler to form a glowing mess. Zavala presses chilled fingers into the strained flesh around his eyes. He’d hoped the cold air that sweeps through the Tower each morning would help wake him and clear his head but, half an hour into the attempt, his brilliant idea has only piled stiffness on top of exhaustion.

   “Your body temperature has dropped well below optimal levels,” Athena points out, factual but just shy of scolding, as she materializes unbidden over Zavala’s shoulder.

   “I’ll only be a moment longer,” the Awoken promises. An empty phrase meant to placate his Ghost and they both know it.

   Zavala expects his Ghost to protest, to roll its single eye and berate him for the hundredth time tonight about worrying himself over nothing. Only it wasn’t ‘nothing’. It was the latest lapse in judgement in an uncomfortable streak centered around the Hunter Vanguard. Zavala has spent the better part of the night after his hasty desertion of the Hunter Lounge last evening deciding exactly what these lapses mean about him. And what they might mean in reference to Cayde-6. The situation has been dissected from every angle and the reluctant fact at the center of the problem is that, if only for one moment, Cayde and Zavala shared a physical connection with mutual pleasure. Zavala only has to discover what he's supposed to do with that inconvenient truth.

   “Have it your way, Commander,” Athena only uses the title when the Ghost is making a point of disagreeing with Zavala. “I’ll be back in our room where it’s warm.”

   The shell disappears in blue fragments leaving Zavala alone with his troubled thoughts and a single jump-lagged Warlock shuffling toward one of the vault access panels. The sun will be rising on the other side of the Tower soon. The sight of a sunrise over the Last City should be beautiful. Cayde would appreciate it. The thought makes Zavala’s eyes hurt again.

__________

   “Good morning, Ikora,” Zavala offers the carefully mustered pleasantry as he descends into the war room. The sky is still dark beyond the Tower’s eastern windows.

   The Warlock Vanguard hums in acknowledgement and the single sound is rough with a lack of sleep. Ah, the potential crisis-induced late shift. Keeping one Vanguard on duty at all times during a high priority situation makes for one hell of a long night. Since Ikora covered the previous night, that makes Cayde next in rotation for the late shift. Which means the Hunter won’t even be drifting in for duty until mid-day. Which means Zavala will have several hours still to process and choose a proper response to last night’s debacle in the Hunter Lounge. Zavala thanks whichever deity must be watching over him today for the small relief.

   “Any news?” Zavala asks as he takes his customary place at the table and boots up his handheld. Statistics gathered overnight from Guardians all over the system and sent to secure Tower servers have been compiled by the various Frames stationed around the room and listed in neat and ominous lines of data for the Commander’s inspection. There seems to be an increasing concentration of Cabal Psions on Mars. Perhaps they are planning to mount some intelligence hack on what remains of the tech on the Red Planet.

      “There is some suspicious Psion activity on Mars,” Ikora stretches her arms over her head and her Ghost, Albus, bobs and rotates slowly in equivalent. “I’ve already reallocated some of our Guardians from Venus.”

    Reliable, intelligent Ikora.

   “Your team on the Moon radioed in with an updated report. All Guardians still accounted for. You can expect their final intel within an hour.”

   “Good,” Zavala nods as he scrolls through Earth stats. The Hive sightings have nearly tripled overnight. “What’s happening in the Cosmodrome?”

   Ikora looks nearly pleased. “A Hive disciple; the Fist of Crota. Eris Morn said it would be there and we have Guardian reports and Ghost scans to back her up. The mission is already underway.”

   Damn, Eris may be bent on revenge but her information seems to have been on point. Zavala grunts in instant annoyance anyway.

   “She was in here,” Ikora begins with a hint of amusement perking the look in her eyes despite the sleep-deprived slump of her shoulders. “Eris wants you to listen in during her missions; said she knew it would bring you a ‘necessary sense of peace.’ She can tell you distrust her, Zavala.”

   “Not exactly making a secret of it,” Zavala grumbles. He might still tell the former Hunter to her face if an opportunity presents itself. “And I will take her channel, I intend to hear every word between Eris and our Guardians.”

   “Of course.” Ikora smiles knowingly as she rolls up a data scroll and tosses it to Zavala. “Everything so far is transcribed there.”

   “You are an irrefutable asset, Ikora.”

   “You’re welcome. Now, is there anything _I_ should know?”

   Zavala shakes his head. He has been known to take work back to his quarters after his official shift but that wasn’t the case last night. Last night he was…otherwise occupied. “Nothing new to report since yesterday.”

   There is an extended moment of silence as the Commander flips through data and one of the Frames on the upper level creaks as it shifts.

   “You’re certain nothing of importance developed after you left?”

    At the sly lilt in the Warlock’s voice, Zavala again tears himself away from his charts and numbers but this time it’s to offer Ikora a genuinely confused look. Ikora stares Zavala down with expectantly arched brows and a budding grin for a moment before finally angling from the relative safety of a three-quarters turn to the dreaded full-facing stance that means the Warlock's entire focus is pinned on Zavala. Only one event of even semi-importance occurred after Zavala left the Hall of Guardians yesterday but it certainly isn't a recounting Zavala wishes to volunteer. How would Ikora know to even pry? The Commander curses the memory of the lone Warlock helm in a sea of Hunters. The Warlock Vanguard really must have eyes and ears everywhere. Zavala had assumed his embarrassment would remain isolated between himself, Cayde, and a (much larger than he wished) room full of Hunters. If word has reached Ikora, then all the time Zavala spent fitfully pacing his room last night will be doubly long tonight. But perhaps Ikora has only heard a passing murmur and is fishing for a more concrete account of what may or may not have happened in a dim and cozy corner. The Commander decides to play dumb.

   “I’m sorry, Ikora, but it’s a little early yet for cryptic questions.”

   “Ah, my apologies. Perhaps you could simply tell me what had you so troubled last night.”

   “Nothing troub-“

   Ikora cuts in before he can even finish the lie. “Then why am I the one fourteen hours into a shift while you’re the one with bags under your eyes?”

   Intelligent, observant Ikora.

   A slim hand takes up position on a pink-clothed hip and even though the words out of Ikora’s mouth sound like a suggestion, they are much more akin to an order. “I know you and I don’t often share, but why don’t you drop the act and tell me the problem?”

   Zavala squares his shoulders and erects his stoniest face- which promptly crumbles when ‘the problem’ itself walks into the Hall of Guardians with a lidded cup in each hand.

   “Mornin’, Vanguard!” Cayde greets with enthusiasm as he descends the stairs to the war table.

   The moment the shock wears off, Zavala finds his voice and its tone is more than a little abrasive. “What are you doing here? You have the extended shift tonight, Cayde. You shouldn’t be here for hours.”

   The Commander was so certain he had more time to prepare before he met the Hunter again. Now he feels like he’s been ambushed from two fronts.

   “Ya know, Exos don’t really need sleep.” Cayde shrugs and two little trails of steam follow the cups in his hands. “Not like a human or an Awoken anyway. Exos can defrag in an hour or so and just keep right on goin’ on. But I didn’t have any other plans with all my free time so I thought ‘hey, why not show up a little early and relieve Ikora to catch some extra beauty sleep.’ Not that you need it, of course!”

   Ikora doesn’t comment on Cayde’s hurried correction aside from a twitch of a dark brow and instead shrugs lightly as she looks to Zavala and mutters, “Well, this is unexpected.”

   Zavala stands even straighter as his shoulders tense. If it is ‘unexpected’ then why doesn’t the Warlock sound even the slightest bit surprised? If anything, she sounds vaguely pleased. The hell is going on here?

   Cayde flexes his wrist, gently stirring the contents of one cup, and approaches Ikora. “Yeah, well, this whole Crota thing’s been hitting us pretty hard and the Vanguard’s two-thirds flesh and blood. Figure I gotta keep you two sharp. So for Ikora, I have a blend of your favorite sleep-inducing teas.”

   Ikora takes the steaming cup with a small ‘thank you.’ This time she’s definitely finding something funny and it can’t be the fact that Cayde knows what kind of tea she likes before sleep.

   “And for the Commander…coffee.” Cayde holds it out in offering as he crosses to Zavala. “I’m assuming you like it dark and boring.”

   Zavala hesitates as he stares at the cup. Is this a simple, kind gesture or something else in disguise? He reaches out to take it if only to give Cayde a reason to back away again.

   “Oof!” Cayde does that mechanical wince of his as his blue eyes pass over Zavala head to toe and then the Hunter continues with a voice low enough that it may be meant only for Zavala’s ears.  “Looks like you could use a pick me up. What’s the matter? Couldn’t sleep last night?”

   Zavala very nearly drops the hot cup but Cayde’s hands catch the bottom- whether in quick reflexes or anticipation is unclear- and scoop the beverage back up into the Titan’s hands. Cayde’s touch lingers just to be sure the Commander has reestablished his grip…or so the Commander wishfully thinks before one of Cayde’s eyes blinks dark then light again in an Exo wink. After speedily rescuing his hands from the metallic grip, Zavala takes a long drink so that he neither has to answer or look at Cayde’s face while the Hunter remains standing so close. The liquid is nearly scalding but the move carries the benefit of hiding the sudden heat that must be visible across his face. He may be able to blame the flush on the coffee if pressed.

   “Cayde,” Ikora begins from across the table and distracts the Hunter’s attention for a precious second, “your offer is quite generous but I know how much you value your free time. Such luxuries will become limited as this Hive conflict escalates. Shouldn’t you savor the time while you can?”

   The Hunter shrugs and tucks his thumbs behind the top of his belt. “Honestly, I didn’t have anything dashing to do today so I figured I’d try to bank a future favor.”

   The Warlock and Hunter stare each other down. Cayde’s arms are now up and wide open in shamelessly honest display, daring Ikora to find fault in the explanation.

   “Alright then.” Ikora, apparently accepting the Exo's semi-noble intentions, takes a sip of her tea and secures her largest handheld under her arm. “I’ll see the two of you later.”

   Zavala begins to call out in protest but clamps down on the urge. Even so, a small noise that might have sounded like the beginning of Ikora’s name escapes. When the Hunter and Warlock Vanguards turn to him, Zavala puts a fist to his mouth and allows himself just a second to think.

   “Hot,” the Commander mutters and then raises his cup to reinforce his pathetic cover.

   Cayde’s chin drifts slowly up in an obviously faked sort of acceptance before he turns his attention back toward Ikora and he waves her out of the Hall. “Sleep tight.”

   Ikora raises her cup in a farewell salute without ever turning back.

   The second Cayde and Zavala are alone together, the Commander can feel backlit eyes boring into him while he pointedly stares at the lit screen of the datapad on the table in front of him. The tension builds silently until...

   “Last night-“

   “Did you tell her?” Zavala snaps as he jerks his head angrily toward the doorway where Ikora and her Ghost exited. Thankfully, the Hall is currently occupied by only the Titan and Hunter Vanguards and two Frames too busy processing incoming data to bother with the drama center stage.

   Cayde seems startled by the thought and shakes his head vehemently. “No, Zava-“

   “Then what was all that?” He throws his hand out to encompass the previous stilted exchange and barely suppressed secret cohorting.

   “Ok,” Cayde admits, “I told her I was coming in to relieve her ahead of schedule but I didn’t say a word about-“

   “Then how does she know?”

   “She’s _Ikora_. What doesn’t she-“

   “This _cannot_ happen again, Cayde!”

   “What exactly do you think ‘this’ is?“

   Zavala opens his mouth to tell Cayde exactly what he thinks ‘this’ is. He’s only spent all night thinking about it after all! _This_ is a horrible idea. _This_ is a single act of indiscretion witnessed by just a few, at best. At worst, _this_ is a case to be toiled over at length during what would be several agonizing Consensus meetings and disciplinary reviews. At worst, _this_ is a possible abuse of position. _This_ is misconduct, favoritism. Or conversely, harassment. Zavala has been over every possibility in the last few hours. He has denied the way his blood pounded, shut down the possibility of any sort of physical relationship in a hundred ways. Hell, Zavala has even briefly considered _agreeing_ to some kind of secret arrangement just to deal with a base urge! But before all that can come out in an angry and defensive jumble, Cayde interrupts Zavala.

   “Stop!”  The Hunter orders with a raised hand for full effect. “I’m over here watching those paranoid gears of yours cranking away and, before you say anything that’s going to put either of us at risk of some crazy political bullshit, there needs to be an apology.”

   That stymies Zavala’s thought processes for a moment. This conversation could still be heading in a dozen different directions and the Commander prays there is a benign ending. “Cayde, I apologize. I don’t know what-"

   “Whoah!” Cayde tenses, startled. “I didn’t mean from you, Zavala.”

   That stops Zavala so hard that he starts thinking in reverse, trying to find an alternate meaning for ‘there needs to be an apology.’

   The internal lights barely visible around Cayde’s mouth and throat flicker, like he’s having a difficult time following up that statement. The plates around his shifting eyes cycle in and out haltingly. The Hunter Vanguard…actually looks nervous.

   Cayde glares at the reflective top of the war table. “I…may have neglected to mention a few things last night. I take full responsibility for that. I wasn’t thinking before and now I’m thinking I really freaked you out and I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to make things awkward as hell between us. That said, I’m pretty sure what happened last night was totally unexpected on both our parts. So why don’t we forget it ever happened?”

   When electronic blue eyes finally meet Zavala’s gaze, the Titan can almost see the plea dimming the glow.

 “We don’t have to tell anyone," Cayde insists. "We don’t ever have to bring it up again. Let’s...just forget it completely. No harm, no foul?”

   Can they do that? Just put it behind them? After all, by Cayde’s own admission, his reaction was unintentional. Neither of them has even given a proper name to what passed between them. In all last night’s hypothetical scenarios, Zavala had never once imagined they could just _not_ address the moment. But it sounds so much better than disciplinary hearings or complicated secret trysts or resigning from the Vanguard.

   “No harm, no foul,” Zavala agrees in absolute relief. “Nothing happened.”

   Cayde laces his fingers together behind his head and exhales a heavy vent toward the ceiling. A little of the tensions eases from Zavala’s shoulders.

   “No harm, no foul,” The Hunter mutters once more as if cementing it in his mind. After a moment of calm, Cayde looks tentatively to Zavala at the end of the table. “But up until it got weird, we were having a good time right? That’s all I want, Zavala. I want you to unwind, relax, not stress yourself until you break. Ghosts can fix a lot physically but it’s the damage up here a Guardian really has to worry about.”

   Cayde taps a finger to the side of his head.

   “There’s more than one reason an Exo mind gets wiped, ya know. There are breaking points. Sometimes you can see them coming. Sometimes you can’t. And if you’re not an Exo who can start again with a clear slate, then you end up like Toland the Shattered, like Dredgen Yor, like any of the other Guardians before or after; broken and lost to the people who need you.”

   The Commander's throat itches and he takes a slow swig of coffee. Zavala can now see his forced socialization at the hands of Cayde as something much heavier than an idle evening of entertainment. Pride wells up defensively. “You think I’m in danger of that?”

   Cayde's gaze drifts back to the near-mirrored surface of the war table. “I think we all are sooner or later. I’m not convinced you have anybody to pull you back.”

   That wasn't always the truth. In the field, Zavala had touchstones- fellow Titans with keen eyes for overwhelmed minds. He had given them up upon his appointment to Vanguard. The thought being that a position of safety rendered a touchstone unnecessary. But now, given the constant grating against the Commander's patience and sudden lapses in control, the need for a watchful ally seems just as relevant as that of any Guardian in the field. Cayde may be more right than he is wrong.

   “Zavala, I’m offering.” With his arms crossed over his chest and chin tucked toward his scarf, Cayde seems strangely small. “And I’m hoping you’ll return the favor."

   The Commander watches Cayde for any sign of a redaction but none come and that unsure shift of the Exo's face is more telling of Cayde's faith in Zavala's response than a doubt about the nature of Cayde's request.

    “You need to be able to let some things go," the Hunter Vanguard presses. " Like with Eris. I know you don’t have much faith in Eris so I want you to trust Ikora’s judgement in bringing her here. Trust me to keep an eye on her.”

   The data scroll with Eris Morn's radio communications still rests unopened, unread, on the table in front of Zavala. When the Exo's right, he's right. The Commander picks the scroll up and offers it to Cayde.  "An ongoing transcript of Eris' communication with our Guardians. Take it. Please."

   Cayde crosses to the Titan and takes the item almost eagerly as light spills over his lips in a static grin. Zavala watches the Hunter consider the item in his hand like a trophy. When bright blues drift back up, Cayde's gaze flits beyond the Titan's armored shoulder and the Hunter Vanguard whistles appreciatively.

   "Would you look at that sunrise!" Cayde murmurs.

   Zavala turns to see the eastern mountains rimmed in brilliant golds and pinks as the dark of night gives way to lighter blue.

   "It's quite a sight," the Commander agrees and takes a long drink of the coffee still warm in his hand. "Going to be a beautiful day."

   "Yeah," Cayde makes a contented humming noise in the back of his throat before taking a seat on the edge of the war table and sighing wearily, "Now I just have to figure out how to convince twenty-some Hunters that you didn't actually blow my fuses last night."

   Zavala's coffee makes a forceful reappearance as the Titan spits and sputters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [visit me on tumblr? :D](https://fox-fic-and-ink.tumblr.com/)


	6. D1: Dark Below .3

   “-to, by vote of the Consensus, abolish the Consensus, and transfer ultimate power, in order that the rights and liberties of all citizens be secured, to a single sovereign of unimpeachable character.’ Do you know who that was written for?”

   Zavala sets his jaw and represses a sigh.

   “It was written for you, Commander Zavala,” Executer Hideo whispers as if New Monarchy’s Seventh Tenet is some kind of sacred honor that should impress.

   To be fair, it might have impressed once upon a time. The faction’s courtship of Zavala has spanned decades, stretching back to the Awoken male’s last days as Lord Saladin’s pupil; those days when Zavala’s role as the next Titan Vanguard were only whispered rumors. In those days, a (marginally) younger Zavala may have been flattered by the offer to become the sole ruling monarch of the Last Safe City on Earth. Thank the Traveler that Saladin had been there to shoo New Monarchy reps away as if they were a flock of predators circling a newborn. As for the idea that the Seventh Tenet was written of Zavala…that’s a lie, of course. The Seven Tenets were written when Zavala was just another Titan; when his political involvement was limited to grumbling with comrades over some questionable drinks at "The Blustery Brew." No, those words were written for the Consensus- a warning, for the citizens of the City- an assurance, and for any potential future Kings or Queens- a shameless bit of ego stroking.

   “Forgive me, Executor. I’m afraid my meeting with the Speaker ran a little long and I’m overdue at the Hall.” Zavala angles himself to slip past the New Monarchy rep but is immediately halted.

   “Surely you can spare one more moment to discuss the future of the City,” Hideo prods at Zavala’s sense of pride and duty as he settles himself in the Commander’s path for the umpteenth time.

   The Awoken male draws himself to his full height. He has politely chosen not to throttle the red and white garbed man thus far but if Zavala has to stand stuck halfway between the Speaker’s observatory and the Tower North stairway for a moment longer, the City’s newest faction may need to find an even newer Tower Rep.

   “Executor, my thoughts _are_  with the City and with ending the Hive god posing the most imminent threat to our existence!”

   “And what better time to prove to the Consensus that you are the man to lead us all?”

   Annoyance flushes through Zavala and heats the words on the tip of his tongue. It is time to shut down New Monarchy’s propositions once and for all. Zavala’s heart pounds. This is not going to be pretty. “Executor-“

   “Hey, Hideo!” Cayde’s voice rings out in greeting that makes the Executor turn to the little alcove where Eva Levante sets up shop. While Hideo is still recovering from the surprise of the unexpected newcomer, Zavala rubs cool fingers against his temple. How the hell does Cayde seem to materialize like that anyway?

   The Exo strides from the shadowy cove while tucking something into his collar and joins the two men. Seemingly oblivious to- or perhaps ignoring entirely- the rising tension, Cayde takes Hideo’s hand without preamble to shake it heartily. “Been a while, Exec. How’s the monarchy? I mean you have found a monarch, haven’t ya? Can’t really brag about establishing a new monarchy without someone to sit on a throne, right?”

   “Actually, Commander Zavala and I were in the middle of an important conversation regarding-“

   “Ah,” Cayde nods sagely and loops his arm over Hideo’s shoulders then leans into the slightly shorter man. “A word of advice: Zavala here’s great. Big war hero, experience in the Vanguard, super serious face that would look great on posters, an almost unfairly cool public speaking voice…“

   “Yes, Cayde-6,” Hideo tries to remain perfectly civil even though he obviously chafes under the Hunter’s over-familiarity and even frowns as he rights his hat which Cayde’s half embrace knocked askew, “New Monarchy is well aware of his-“

   “Yeah, but he’d make a horrible king. He's pretty married to the idea of the Consensus. The guy you should actually be looking at…” the Hunter’s finger travels a wildly twisting path through the air before pointing squarely to Cayde’s face, “… is right here. I would make one hell of a king! Sparrow jousting tournaments monthly, huge feasts every night, a throne made entirely out of pieces of Vex I’ve personally killed; that’s what I bring to a monarchy. So do you have to fill out some paper work or do we just take a vote at the next Consensus meeting? Can I deliver an impassioned speech about how much I’m honored that you chose me? Give me the nitty gritty, Hideo.”

   The human male looks mildly horrified and takes a sidestepping bow out of the Hunter Vanguard’s embrace. Once he’s gained a reasonably safe distance and reestablished composure, Hideo frowns. “New Monarchy is a respectable organization. I’m sorry that I don’t find much humor in your joke, Sir.”

   Cayde leans once more into the New Monarchy Executor’s personal space- so close his internal lights wash over the Executor’s face- and his voice takes a low, dark turn. “And I don’t see where you get off obstructing our Commander in the middle of a make-or-break our survival campaign.”

   Both Hideo and Zavala stare mutely in the wake of Cayde’s sudden change. Zavala has seen a few of what he assumes must be many sides of Cayde, but never one that resembled intimidation.

    After a minute, yet visibly uncomfortable shift of his entire body, Hideo nods to the Commander. “Perhaps some other time would be more appropriate. Somewhere more private. Without your companion.”

   Hideo abruptly departs the conversation, his measured steps unable to hide the foul mood that has taken root since Cayde’s arrival.

   "Don't forget, Hideo: Cayde for king!"

   Hideo's shoulders hunch as he stalks away and the odd Guardian and hooded citizens idling around Tower North all pause to stare at the Hunter Vanguard's antics. Cayde plays right to his newfound crowd with wide open arms and double peace signs. "Cayde-6 for king, everyone! Tell your friends."

   The Executor positively whithers back in his corner surrounded by fellow factioneers.

   "And that,” Cayde whispers with a hint of grin, “is how you take care of that.”

   “What the hell, Cayde?” Zavala drops his hand before he can worry away all the skin of his brow. All the angry energy he’d built up for Hideo pounds beneath his skin and leaves him feeling nearly sick. And ‘companion’? Of all the words Hideo could have chosen to describe Cayde-6…

    _Damnit._

   “What?” The Hunter demands defensively. “I just saved you from another ten minutes of uncomfortable conversation. Minimum!”

   “By threatening Executor Hideo.”

   “Nobody threatened anybody,” Cayde shrugs innocently.

   “It certainly felt implied,” Zavala counters crossly as he slips past the Hunter Vanguard to finally reach the stairs. Excellent. Now Zavala has mounds of negative energy with nowhere to go but out. It’s not a good time for Cayde to linger, particularly given the last few weeks.

   “Oh, please.” A crackle of static in the back of Cayde’s throat serves as a scoff as he follows on the Commander’s heels. “You were totally about to lose it. You’re lucky I was there, Zavala. We both know you’re everybody’s golden boy. If you’d let Hideo have it, the whole City would hear but that’s the kind of stuff I can get away with. What that was…was me saving your ass.”

   “I didn’t ask you to save me!”

   The whip crack of emotion startles Cayde as much as it startles Zavala and they both stop halfway through the stairwell. Once that first strike has been unleashed, everything else follows like a flood.

   “I don’t need you waiting in the wings to swoop down and fight the battles I’ve been fighting for years, Cayde. If you want to help me, you should focus on cleaning up this damn mess we’re in!”

    Cayde’s glowing eyes dim and he sags to one side. “Damnit, Zavala. You still worried about a little rumor? I’m telling you it’s not a big deal.”

   “Not a big deal?” Zavala thunders and Cayde gestures for him to keep it down and even jerks his head in the direction of the Frame sweeping in the corner of their landing. Zavala does take it down a couple notches knowing that these stairs are used by Guardians and City contractors alike but he is still furious and fully intends to have this conversation right now.  “Yes, I’m concerned! For the last two weeks, I’ve been getting strange looks from every one of your Hunters. But it’s not only Hunters; this thing has spread all over the Tower. Cayde, I just had a long meeting with the Speaker, at the end of which, he suggested I might take personal leave to ‘reflect in light of recent developments.’ An afternoon of leave, Cayde! The Speaker wants me to take  _leave_  in the middle of this damn Crota offensive!  _Hideo_  has even heard.”

   Cayde dares to laugh softly. “The Speaker knows you’re working yourself too hard, that’s all. And ‘strange looks’? Ok, that is definitely you being paranoid.”

   “Do not tell me what I am! I thought you were going to convince them nothing happened!”

   In response to Zavala’s wildly fluctuating tone, Cayde glances hurriedly down both ends of the hall. The Exo even tries to shush Zavala with a rough hiss of air and leather-clad hand drifting toward Zavala’s mouth before the Commander backhands it away. Cayde’s eyes flash, obviously miffed, and he instead raises both hands in a plea to keep it down while physically closing in on the Titan. Even though Cayde’s posture is in no way threatening like it was against Hideo, Zavala tenses at their proximity. For two weeks, Zavala has maintained a careful distance from the Hunter Vanguard. After all, there’s no reason to provide any more grist for the rumor mill. Add to that the troubling memory of Cayde’s Light that sets Zavala’s skin tingling anytime the Hunter is near. This close, Zavala has a difficult time quashing the urge to push Cayde away and reclaim his personal space. He does throw up a single halting hand and, though visibly confused, Cayde takes a step back before whispering.

   “Zavala, it’s just a stupid rumor. These things circulate for a while and then Rahool will fall into a string of disappointing decryptions or Tex Mechanica will run another one of their crooked contests and everyone will move on. Nothing happened, remember? You know it. I know it. Zavala, there’s no reason for us to act any different…Wait, is it my imagination or have you pretty much been avoiding me since word spread?”

   The Commander winces at being caught.

   “Shit,” Cayde mutters. He hangs his head and shakes it slowly before displaying his own pained expression. “We need to talk about it, don’t we?”

   Zavala grits his teeth behind closed lips. What he wouldn’t give for a contractor or Guardian to walk by and interrupt about now. “There’s nothing to talk about because nothing happened. You said it yourself.”

   Slipping past Cayde proves a lot easier than trying to slip past Executor Hideo but the Hunter Vanguard is probably equally persistent. The Hunter’s light tread follows immediately after Zavala as he mounts the next set of stairs.

   “Yeah, well sometimes I lie!” The Exo admits as he speeds up to walk abreast of the Awoken. “So sue me.”

   “If you intend to continue talking about this, then I’d just as soon throw you off the Tower.”

   “Fine. Right after you let me say this.”

   Cayde reaches for Zavala’s shoulder to halt their march and the Commander jerks away from the touch instinctively. Taking advantage of the new angle, Cayde follows up with a rough push to the armored back presented to him and the Commander very nearly stumbles into a pile of the many supply crates lining the stairwell. The Awoken recovers with a scowl only to find he’s been herded into the dark space between a tower of supplies and a door frame and left toe-to-toe with Cayde in relative privacy. With nowhere to retreat, Zavala seeks to escape by moving forward but Cayde is having none of that and pushes back when the Commander tries to casually muscle past. Even after the Titan’s back hits a solid surface, Cayde’s hand remains firmly planted against thick chest armor. It’s a challenge from the Hunter. _Come at me and mean it or stand still._  A full-on confrontation with a fellow Vanguard is one of the last things Zavala needs weighing down his reputation right now. Zavala exhales a defeated sigh and Cayde allows a little distance between them.

   “Ok, listen.” Cayde’s hands are already moving in those choppy, open-palmed gestures the Exo uses whenever he wants to prove himself right. “Light is a benign force, Zavala. Guardians weaponized it but it inherently feels  _good_ to any person with a talent for it. It’s just that…well, Exo’s tend to be more susceptible to its non-combat uses. And yeah, there are some who pretty exclusively use Light to-”

  “No. Stop!” Zavala shakes his head vehemently and closes his eyes in case Cayde wants to finish that thought with a hand gesture. He’s heard rumors of Light play for personal gratification but it seems almost sacrilegious. He does not want to have this conversation. Especially not here. Zavala peeks down the hall just to be sure there’s noone to overhear what is turning out to be a frighteningly educational conversation.

   “Truth is: I was sure I could handle it. I mean, it’s not like it was my first time playing Messenger. Or even my first time experiencing Light play...”

   Far too educational. Zavala checks their feet to see if Cayde’s sense of decorum might be crumpled there. “You do not need to tell me this. Please, stop.”

   Cayde, of course, does not.

   “I should have warned you it was a possibility.” The Exo is almost desperately trying to make eye contact and the Awoken is trying to do anything but. “It’s just that your Light’s a lot stronger than the average Guardian, Zavala. You really caught me off guard and I couldn’t help that I kinda...ya know...”

   “Oh, Traveler’s Light,” Zavala blasphemes as full realization crashes over him and he scrubs his face with both hands before sweeping his head, chasing the pounding ache all the way to the back of his skull. He didn’t just accidentally give Cayde a little jolt in the lounge; he actually got the Exo off. He did ‘blow Cayde’s fuses.' The damn rumor is true and Zavala is the last one to find out!

   Somehow, Cayde hardly seems embarrassed. “So what? It’s not like we were trying to. And I get it. It’s fucking lonely being a Vanguard.”

   “Cayde-6!” Zavala snaps at the archaic but crude language and he’s almost certain Tess Everis can hear him all the way at the Special Orders desk.

   “No, seriously,” Cayde protests with a hint of half-crazed plea for understanding. “We hardly ever leave the Tower, all the people we trust are scattered across the solar system- or, ya know, dead- and we’re in this position of authority that seems to scare off more potential partners than it attracts. When was the last time you got laid? When was the last time you even had the opportunity?”

   Again with the vulgar arcana. Zavala is so close to requesting a transmat out of this conversation.

   “There is no way I’m answering those questions,” Zavala promises.

   “You don’t have to.” Cayde crosses his arms in cocky triumph. “Because if it was anytime recent, you probably wouldn’t have been losing it on some beat up couch in a crowded room and then acting like it was the end of the world.”

   The heat of shame creeping up the back of Zavala’s neck is so intense that he can visualize its progress. “Is there some kind of point or are you simply trying to humiliate me?”

   “I’m not trying to…” Now Cayde just sounds exhausted. His arms drop and his shoulders bow. “I’m saying what happened…happened. But neither of us meant for it to and it’s over. We should be able to laugh about it because it’s not gonna happen again.”

   He means to nod in affirmation but the Awoken’s insides twist at the thought. The Speaker already questions Zavala’s faculties given the rumor of a single incident. It will not, can not, happen again. But each time Zavala begins to open his mouth, there is no air to draw into his lungs. Is he really that lonely? It’s not something he usually allows himself to dwell on.

   “It was just a one-off.” A static halted voice pokes at the fog inside Zavala’s head. “It's not gonna happen again…right?”

   Backlit blues flit back and forth as they scan the twisted features of Zavala’s face. The hundreds of responses crafted in the aftermath of the Hunter lounge clutter the Commander’s brain. He tries to condense lengthy objections and rejections steeped in practicality, ethics, and his own sense of pride. He only needs to find one answer. It only need be a single word. ‘No.’

   A flash of something crosses Cayde's face and then those bright blues dim making the already shadowed corner darker. The distance between Hunter and Titan seems to have magically halved itself.

   “Unless, you’d rather…” Cayde trails off before he can finish. It’s only a small mercy that the words don’t leave his mouth. The implication is more than enough.

   Apparently, ‘yes’ is also an option. And it could be mutual.

   A series of deep breaths do little to calm the flow of the Commander’s blood. The fact that Cayde doesn’t come back with an amendment- an ‘Aw, just kidding,’ or a ‘Hah! Gotcha!’- does not help. The silent but intensely focused way Cayde stares also does zero to diffuse the moment.

   Suddenly, the muscles of Zavala’s throat seize in horror. Not because Cayde has left an opening, but because it dawns on Zavala that he has long surpassed the appropriate window to object while he was standing around staring at smooth metal features. Maybe he simply is that desperate. But desperate enough to put pleasure before his integrity? Then again, there isn’t exactly a handbook with rules forbidding…physical interaction.

   “Cayde-“ Finally a word. It’s still not an answer, Zavala eventually realizes.

   After allowing ample time for the Commander to finish the sentence, and sensing nothing else is coming, Cayde prompts. “Yeah?”

   Damn that hopeful note buried between layers of vocal synthesizers. Still, Zavala has no answer and Cayde’s Light has begun tugging at the edges of Zavala’s own in invitation. Decision-making, and all associated aspects of cause and effect, are currently beyond Zavala’s grasp. Time…what he needs is time. He finds a woefully weak imitation of his own voice but it will have to do. “Cayde, I need you to grant me an afternoon of leave. Effective immediately.”

   The Hunter Vanguard looks like he’s just walked into a trip mine- equal parts surprised and devastated. Then, like any Guardian revived after walking into a trip mine, Cayde’s frustration is palpable. Zavala can feel the denial coming. He’ll have to find some way to put this conversation on hold and slink away to beg Ikora’s authorization and he’ll be lucky to get away from the Warlock Vanguard with a minimal inquisition. But while Zavala is working on his final excuses, Cayde steps back and silently sweeps a stiff arm toward the exit. Then the Hunter turns from Zavala to plant his back against the wall a few paces to the left and sink down until he sits on his haunches with forearms braced atop thighs and hands hanging limply between. He looks as if he intends to stay for a while.

   “Fine,” the Exo mutters begrudgingly toward the opposite wall. “Leave granted.”

   If there was a sigh, Cayde swallows it stubbornly.

   "Cayde-"

   "Make up your mind, Zavala. Are you talking or running?"

   It's the lack of bite that makes the question really sting. Anger Zavala can justify; the insult can be tossed aside. But Cayde's quiet acceptance only highlights the pathetic truth of the situation. The Commander can't even convince himself that this is more tactical retreat than escape. This is the dirty way out, Zavala knows. He doesn’t bother to apologize as he steps out and mounts the last set of stairs. He’ll fix things with Cayde, but only after Zavala manages to sort himself out first.


	7. D1: Dark Below .4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, some 'adult content.'

   Fire licks along the bones in his arms, consumes the muscles in his shoulders and back. He lowers himself once more but his elbows lock at ninety degrees. Sweat has long since soaked his gray sleep shirt front and back and even the hems of his short sleeves stick no matter how his muscles flex. A stray bead stings his eye as even more drip onto the worn tile beneath. His body quakes with prolonged exertion as he hovers stubbornly above the floor. Zavala has hit his limit. Still he tries for one more move and is rewarded for his bullheadedness when his left arm gives beneath him and dumps him to the side. The meat of his shoulder takes the impact but that certainly doesn’t mean it’s not painful. He swallows his grunt even though there’s only one other being in Zavala’s quarters to hear his weakness.

   “Is it safe to assume that’s all the pushups for tonight?” Athena queries dryly from her spot on Zavala’s pillow.

   His Ghost may sound vaguely disinterested but Zavala can feel the bright presence on the outskirts of his consciousness is a bit off. Normally Athena is a gentle reassurance- like a supportive yet watchful mother- but today the flutter Zavala can only detect after years of practice belays the little helper’s concern.

   Zavala rolls onto his back and exhales carbon dioxide and aggravation at the ceiling. With a burning effort, Zavala manages to bring both hands behind his head and sit upright. Athena rises off the pillow hopefully but then the Ghost's presence flairs irritably when Zavala lowers his shoulders back to the ground and begins to find a rhythm for the newest exercise.

   “And now it’s sit-ups.” Athena hovers over and dips down to catch Zavala in recline. “Exactly how long do you intend to continue?”

   “Until I’ve had enough,” Zavala exhales on the rise. When he lies back, it’s just long enough to inhale and just short enough to escape before Athena can burn a hole in his head with a single disapproving eye.

   The Commander startles when he rises again and nearly headbutts a little, white shell.

   “You’re avoiding the problem, Zavala.”

   Zavala continues as if he hasn’t heard.

   “You have to stop running from...whatever this is.”

   Zavala stops, rotates until he’s facing the opposite direction, and continues. He sits up. There is Athena. The Awoken expels spent air in a huff and closes his eyes but before he can lower again, something strikes him between the shoulders. He grunts and hunches away from the following blows which can only be Athena’s frame colliding with his back repeatedly. The Ghost persists until Zavala holds his aching arms up in request for cessation.

   “Don’t! You'll damage yourself,” Zavala chastises over his shoulder and only realizes the potential for pot-calling-kettle when Athena tilts down and rotating panels freeze in a Ghost’s version of a glare.

   “Zavala, whatever is going on is obviously affecting you.”

   “Everything is fine,” Zavala lies automatically. But that’s not going to bullshit any being of intelligence today, let alone one that shares a link just short of psychic comprehension. Keeping his Ghost in the dark has proven both lonely and exhausting in the last few weeks but there are some things Zavala doesn’t care to share with the world or even his closest confidant.

   “We never take leave in the middle of an offensive,” Athena points out dourly and follows that up with an almost bitter mumble. “We barely take leave at all.”

   The sight of his Ghost hovering uncertainly and Athena’s essence dark with doubt against the backdrop of Zavala’s mind is enough to make the Commander reexamine the way he takes care of himself and Athena. Maybe if he paid more attention to himself, things never would have twisted and spiraled beyond his control.

   “You’re right, we never take leave,” Zavala attempts to reassure his Ghost both through their link and by offering his hand. Athena floats just above the offered surface-apparently appreciating the gesture but not a fan of landing on the sweat- slicked surface. They have been working decades with only the barest of pauses. And those are usually periods of rest imposed by the Speaker. Zavala is kicking himself for a thousand reasons there. But in one of those regrets, he sees an opportunity. “Well, like it or not, we have it today so we should make use of it. Why don’t you take some time for yourself, Athena? The rest of the evening is yours alone. Explore, visit, whatever you like.”

   “Without you?” If Ghost’s came with eyebrows, Athena’s would undoubtedly be cocked to the sky.

   “You deserve time alone as much as any other being and I’m in no danger here.”

   “And you’re done with the crazy exercise?”

   “Yes,” this time Zavala does mean it. Though Athena still appears skeptical and her essence pries at Zavala’s mind hunting proof. “I’m going to clean up and rest. I won’t even leave our room.”

   All truths and Athena eventually accepts them as such.

   “Guardians are such a handful,” Athena finally sighs. “Though it could be worse. You could be Cayde... I do suppose you're much more manageable than you used to be. But you listen, _Commander._ I don’t like being shut off from you so you solve this mystery problem of yours tonight or I’ll be forced to intervene. Understood?”

   Zavala accepts the Ghost’s gentle warning headbutt and strokes a retreating panel affectionately. “Understood. Now where will you be off to with your free time?”

   Athena’s panels rotate and the Ghost’s central eye blinks before the whole frame turns from Zavala in a move almost coy.  “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

   By the time a surprised chuckle passes Zavala’s lips, all that remains of his Ghost is a flurry of blue particulates and even that fades in a few seconds. Is that cheek something the Traveler gifted the Ghosts along with its Light or is that truly a learned behavior? Maybe they just are as they are.

   Zavala struggles to his feet with a series of pained hisses. Perhaps he has overdone it. His routine is meant to be done daily, not for hours on loop in a vain attempt to rechannel some physical tension. But even after all that, even with the buzz of overworked and shredded muscles, Zavala still feels restless energy in numb fingertips. With Athena now gone, Ghost’s presence fully detached from Guardian’s consciousness by the distance between them, Zavala can at least fall back on Plan B without concern for the little helper butting in with unwanted questions or commentary. Athena is right. Zavala has to deal with this. And if Zavala’s body is going to continue to demand release, now is the time to get it over with.

   He grips his sweat-darkened shirt by the back of the collar and manages to peel it over his head on the second attempt. He wipes the worst of the sweat from his face with the last clean patches as he makes his way to the glorified closet that is his attached washroom. The shirt makes it into a bag on the wall where a service Frame will collect it tomorrow with the rest of the Commander’s meager laundry. It’s that moment that Zavala realizes he’ll be sleeping in the nude tonight and prays to the Traveler and old Awoken gods alike that there will be no attack on the City. Pants follow the way of the shirt and Zavala steps into the claustrophobic shower stall. Motion sensors register and when the water emerges overhead, it’s temperate in a small yet consistent mercy.

   Once he’s cleared the salt from his skin and allowed his muscles to ease, Zavala sets about completing his next chore. He’s angled himself diagonally to ensure the most range of movement in a space where his shoulders could easily brush door and wall standing normally. Even so, he bumps the door with his elbow as he reluctantly takes hold of his cock. Quick and perfunctory is the goal as always in these rare occurrences. Once he’s appeased the ancient wiring in his brain, Zavala can return to life as usual…and get out of this absurdly cramped shower.

   But after a few minutes of stroking and even more insistent tugging, Zavala is more than a little irked to find he remains at half-mast and his body seems to have no inclination of being forcefully stimulated further. Which is absolutely ridiculous because why else would he be such a tense and jittery mess if not a result of primordial self-preservation instincts seeking fulfillment?

   It must be the sudden change. After such a long stretch of failure to pursue an outlet and burying the urge until it dissipates, Zavala’s body must be skeptical of an actual finish. How long has it even been since he came by his own hand? Zavala can’t remember.

   He huffs in annoyance, watching the move flick water from his face, before clamping his eyes shut and attempting a little something he does even less often than masturbate. Boxed in by tile and glass, Zavala attempts to fantasize. Too bad he can’t for the life of him remember his last partner.

   A Titan...or so he thinks. She…he? Zavala can’t recall whether they were even human or Awoken. He can only rule out Exo for the fact he knows he’s never been with an Exo. Though he doesn’t recall if that’s due to a lack of trying or simply the roll of the dice. His last partner…was within his first weeks of induction into the Vanguard. That's about all he remembers with any surety. In fact, Zavala can’t seem to remember the actual coupling at all but what he does remember are the brief moments after, lying in the dark next to an equally warm and breath-starved body and then hearing his companion for the evening stir.

   _“Can’t believe I actually had sex with a member of the Vanguard!”_

   And then the laugh that followed. Zavala's promotion, Saladin's legacy, the duty of the Vanguard, the sanctity of the City- it was all one colossal joke in that moment. His partner had been looking to scratch a ranking Guardian off their list and Zavala had agreed knowing so. Only in those dark moments as his heart settled did Zavala regret using the post Saladin had passed to him with confidence for such an empty encounter. It seems Zavala will always remember that laugh. That was it. That was the sound, the moment, that changed Zavala. That was the last partner. The very last shared experience before Zavala's life conformed to a much more rigid set of self-imposed behavioral guidelines and there simply were no more, no others, and eventually the Awoken didn't feel the need to bother with even himself. Not to forget the brief but horrifying factional fiasco that followed. The reminder does nothing to save the Commander’s fading erection.

    The tiled wall is unforgivably hard when Zavala rests his forehead against the wet surface. He remembers a time when he enjoyed sex and even sought out new partners to add to a generous collection of reoccurring favorites. It was his promotion and his first failure there that effectively killed his sex life. In retrospect, perhaps he should have striven for some kind of a balance between duty and sanity.

   Cayde would no doubt deem the realization equal parts hilarious and tragic.

   Damn Cayde! Zavala was perfectly at ease with the way things were until that ridiculous game, until the Exo’s Light pulled at Zavala’s and stirred things that were better left to settle. And then the Hunter’s unspoken offer to do it again…Zavala’s cock twitches with newfound interest and the Awoken scowls. Of course his body would chose to ignore his mind's warning that nothing can happen there. If Zavala's selfish weakness had brought shame to Saladin's old position, wouldn't carrying on with Cayde do the same to the memory of Andal Brask and every Hunter before? The Commander presses his furrowed brow into the tile and makes a conscious effort not to think of the Hunter. Again he attempts to recall previous partners, _any_ previous partners from his wilder days pre-Vanguard! There should be a whole stream of faces and bodies- fellow Guardians, several waitresses from “The Blustery Brew”, one fiery Warlock from the opposing team after a particularly close Crucible match.

   But Zavala still hears the soft buzz of Cayde’s voice in a barely private nook of Tower North.

_“Unless you’d rather...”_

The flesh between Zavala's legs jumps again.

And that face! Gods, if Cayde knew Zavala was thinking of him right now, the Exo’s expression would be so damn smug. And why does _that_ make Zavala so damn hard?

   Zavala’s hand warily makes its way back to his erection and brushes experimentally. Teeth accidentally catch his lip as he bites back a head-spinning gasp and he gets a taste of his own blood. He doesn't even grip himself properly for a moment as he adjusts to the difference actual arousal makes. That insignificant contact has his knees threatening to give where his body had previously been so indifferent. At least now he has something to work with. He thinks back to the male (Awoken?) Warlock from the Crucible. It used to be one of his favorite memories and now he can’t recall the details of what he’s sure was a heated rematch in the privacy of one of their jumpships. Screw it. If he can’t remember, he’ll make it up.

_It’s Zavala’s ship, a monster of a thing that could be used as a battering ram if worst ever came to worst. The scant space behind the controls has been taken up by a horizontal storage that doubles as a bed with the addition of the thick pad crammed into the furthest corner._

    And of course Zavala remembers that clearly, he got decades of use out of his makeshift love nest floating in orbit.

    _A close match and heated challenges afterword over comms finds Zavala and an equally brash Warlock in an agreement. The Warlock is in a hurry but so is Zavala, racing to see if the Warlock will settle the score or if Zavala will claim another victory before the Crucible Handler announces the location of their next battlefield. Zavala presses his last round advantage and strikes as soon as the Warlock has finished transmatting aboard. He doesn’t care where the Warlock’s Ghost might be and Athena knows to occupy herself elsewhere if she doesn’t wish to witness this most careless aspect of Zavala’s life. He has the Warlock pinned to the bed of weapons and supplies almost instantly without bothering with anything so frivolous as padding or a discussion about who will lead this meeting. If the Warlock wants those honors, he’ll win them next round. Zavala knows this Guardian's type; the size of his mouth is only eclipsed by the size of his ego. There will be a rematch as long as the Warlock's ego holds. Even now, the Warlock fights for some semblance of dominance from the bottom, wrapping his legs around Zavala's back and hips and trying to force their rhythm. But as long as they both find physical satisfaction, there really is no loser. Zavala grinds into the body beneath him in a savage rut and the Warlock responds with equally desperate bucks of his heavily-clothed hips. There's no time to undress and redress so they don't bother to remove any of the layers between them. The Warlock struggles with his own helmet though, respirator no doubt unable to keep up as they work their bodies to a fever pitch. When the armor finally pops off with the hiss of a broken seal and clatters against the floor, Zavala glances to see exactly who he has aboard. Overhead lights shine off blue and silver face plates and Zavala couldn’t stop if he wanted to. The Exo arches hard, glowing blue eyes open wide, mechanical edged sigh cutting through Zavala’s brain._

Zavala nearly chokes on his choice of fantasy partner and his body quakes as he spills into his hand and against the wall. Even his damn imagination is trying to derail his resolve! And Cayde as a Warlock...Gods, Zavala needs to rest and recuperate if his brain thinks that could ever happen. None of the words beating against Zavala’s throat are kind so he stands there with one arm braced against the shower wall and mouth open in silent, breathless pants instead.

   His pulse hammers in a syncopated rhythm for an unsettling moment until he realizes that only one set of pounding thuds belong to his heart. The second set is a fist against his door.

   More unkind words, mixed with a few particularly savage oaths, spring to mind but Zavala is still recovering. The knocking intensifies and he calls out in breathless annoyance. “Athena, could you please-“

   Oh, right.

   Zavala washes the most obvious mess away before grabbing a threadbare towel and scrambling for the door in the main room.

   “This had better be damn important!” Zavala threatens his unknown visitor. Again with the knocking. “Yes, I’m here! What’s the emergency?”

   He yanks the door open and is thankful he’s not in full armor or he probably would have ripped it clear off the sliding rail. On the other side, he finds a complete stranger. A female Awoken stands in the hall, her white-silver brows rising into a fringe of the same color hair. Mirror-like purple eyes flash against light violet skin and scan the Commander pointedly from head to toe. Zavala remembers he’s quite underdressed, especially when compared to the Awoken female’s full Hunter gear, and subtly checks the coverage of the towel around his waist.

   Neither party seems sure what to say until a bubbling laugh and silken purr fill the awkwardly silently doorway. “It looks like you started without me.”

   “Excuse me?” Is the best Zavala can muster standing nearly naked in front of a strange woman with a midnight voice.

   The Hunter laughs again and crowds into Zavala’s space, dipped shoulder first, as she begins to unfasten her gunbelt. “That’s alright. Hunter armor comes off quick with a little help.”

   “Who the hell are you?” Zavala demands incredulous as he blocks the other Awoken’s bold advance into his quarters.

   The vixen persona collapses the second a silver brow twitches leaving a woman who seems more than a little lost. “I’m Ellaise…”

   When Zavala doesn’t respond with anything resembling understanding- because what the hell is he supposed to understand here?- the Hunter tries again. “ _Ellaise._ Ellaise Bon…Cayde did tell you I was coming, didn’t he?”

   Zavala’s heart stops.

   “He warned me you’d be surprised but I imagined he meant pleasantly so. Are you going to let me in?”

   The velvet is back in her voice and her purpose here too clear. Zavala slams the door shut and engages the lock before furiously setting about redressing himself in just enough of his usual armor to be presentable when he barges into the Hall of Guardians to strangle Cayde-6.


	8. D1: Dark Below .5

   Zavala storms the main entrance to the Hall of Guardians with all the ease of a cornered Striker and dressed in little more than his black and red battle suit and his boots. Shaxx looks to be wrapping up the last Crucible matches of the night but stops to stare at Zavala as he approaches, no doubt the fellow Titan can sense the lightning edge to the Commander’s Light.

   “Zavala?” The Titan asks meaning ‘ _Is all well, should I be ready for battle?’_

    “Let no one enter,” the Commander orders without stopping.

   It’s late so traffic in the Hall should be at a minimum and Ikora’s scheduled shift ended over an hour ago which means Cayde will be alone as he settles into the overnight shift. Still, Zavala gratefully notes Shaxx’s nod of compliance before the Crucible Handler takes up a defensive post halfway between the Handler’s desk and the Quartermaster’s station and even Shaxx's Frame, Arcite 99-40, chimes in with a robotic “Directive confirmed.”

   Zavala takes the stairs into the war pit two at a time. Silver-white hair is the first thing to catch his eye.

  “Leave,” he barks to that lovely Awoken Hunter who, no surprise, is deep in snappish and grumbling discussion with Cayde. Both Hunters tense without even turning to see the fury Zavala knows is etched into the deepest lines of his face. The room is quiet save the nonverbal obscenities clouding the air and the female is the first to move again by offering a respectful dip of her head in the Commander’s most general direction. Cayde on the other hand practically collapses at the waist, elbows on the table, fingers interlocked and knuckles barricading his lips. Guilt incarnate. One last steely glare is all it takes to get the female Hunter finally on her way but not before she delivers a particularly solid smack to the back of the Hunter Vanguard’s head. A muffled acknowledgement of pain echoes in Cayde’s mouth but he doesn’t otherwise comment on her departure.

   “Can’t believe I came all the way back here for this shit,” the Awoken mutters as she passes Zavala with a wide berth.

   Now alone, Zavala descends on Cayde. “Talk.”

   The Exo’s shoulders rise and fall with a heartfelt- sounding and yet infuriatingly showy sigh. “Wow. I mean…I really thought that would work.”

   Zavala’s fist meets the table next to Cayde and the Hunter doesn’t so much as flinch even when Zavala leans down and practically snarls into the side of his head. “You think sending one of your Hunters to my room is somehow helpful?”

   “She’s not ‘one of my Hunters’,” Cayde protests flatly in a point of clarification, but not defense, as he focuses almost blindly forward. “She’s a good friend. Ran with her and Andal both in my rare fireteam days. Now she mostly keeps herself running patrol on Mars and only touches down in the Tower to resupply couple times a year. She’s quiet, gorgeous, _big_ fan of yours…If you wanted a perfect fling, Zavala, she was it.”

   The Hunter’s steady calm only riles Zavala further.

   “Did I _tell_ you that I wanted a _fling_?” Zavala demands through teeth while watching Cayde’s eyes shift in rapid thought.

   Leather-encased knuckles hover in front of a metal mouth but drift back to press hard against the plating as if Cayde is only barely keeping his words in check while he finds the ones that might save his face from getting punched in. The Titan digs his right forearm into the table if only to bleed off some of the rage darkening the edges of his vision and forcing his hands into painfully coiled fists. This close, he can see the individual cells that make up the Exo’s eyes.

   “No, you didn’t,” Cayde finally admits.

   “Then why in the name of the Traveler would you send her to my room, Cayde-6!?!”

   Blue eyes blink out and Cayde shakes his head, silently arguing with himself apparently, while the beveled planes that serve as his lips clamp tightly on leather.

   Zavala’s going to punch him. Whatever the Hunter is thinking, or thinking about saying… no matter what actually manages to come out of that metal mouth… Zavala gets the distinct feeling his fist is soon making contact with Cayde’s face and the decision carves another few years into the lines around Zavala’s tight-lipped frown.

   The Exo’s train of thought obviously ends in ‘fuck it’ when eyes pop back online and fingers fly wide to accent an open-palmed shrug.

   “Because I’m watching out for you,” the Hunter responds as factually as if he’d said ‘because the sky’s blue’ or ‘because Hobgoblins are a pain in the ass.’

   Zavala pushes himself upright explosively and shakes out his hands _trying_ to convince himself that the right hook he’s envisioning will not be as satisfying as he thinks it will be. Is it worth the melancholic tone and disappointed slope of the Speaker’s shoulders? If he’d known this was the outcome, Zavala never would have offered Cayde that transcript. “This is not the sort of looking after I agreed to, Cayde!”

   The Exo finally rises as well to roll his eyes and rest one hip against the war table as he watches Zavala pace a tight line. He crosses his arms and his ankles as casual as you please and- GODS! DOES CAYDE REALLY NOT FEEL THE AURA OF IMMINENT ASSAULT?

 “This is exactly the kind of thing we agreed to,” Cayde nods obstinately. “We agreed to watch out for the kind of issues we wouldn’t see coming ourselves.”

   “And what, exactly, do you think is my issue?” Zavala snaps. Not because he wants to hear the insane workings of Cayde’s brain, but because he’ll need something to justify any violent actions to the Speaker.

   “The problem…” Cayde continues perfectly nonchalant, “…is that you’re in love with me.”

   Zavala nearly suffers whiplash when he turns wide, disbelieving eyes on the Exo. For a moment, he doesn’t know how to respond to that. Then he realizes the level of Executor Hideo’s horror at the thought of Cayde as king.

   “I absolutely am not!” Commander Zavala practically roars. And of that, Zavala is honestly and emphatically sure! Cayde may have stirred up some long dormant desires but none of those resemble anything like a romantic love. This is not some early Golden Age fairytale!

   Cayde shrugs as if it’s no big deal either way. “Well, it’s that or you really do just _desperately_ need to get laid.”

   “And so you thought to send a complete stranger to my room!”

   The Exo rolls his eyes to the high ceiling and lets his arms fall before rocking away from the table. But turnabout is fair play and Zavala lashes out- a single warning push to the Exo’s chest when it looks like the Hunter wants to walk away from the conversation entirely. They’re not going anywhere until Zavala makes Cayde understand why this is not ok.

   Cayde vents a frustrated puff of air before accepting his semi-permanent spot propped against the Vanguard’s war table. “Her name is Ellaise, Zavala. And, if you’d let yourself, the two of you would have had a good time. But now she thinks I played some kind of prank on her and she’s pissed at me so, ya know, thanks for that. You have no idea how long that woman can hold a grudge. Once, Andal scratched her Sparrow and-”

   “She is not the only one furious here, Cayde!” Zavala’s fingers find plenty of purchase in the layers of cloth around Cayde’s neck and he uses clenched fists to drag the Hunter’s eyes to meet his own. “Anyone could have seen or heard her at my door. Do you know how that looks?”

   “Watch the scarf, Zavala,” Cayde admonishes dryly with one hand folded over Zavala’s fists and the other planted on the table behind him to support his half slouch. “It’s the only one I have.”

   Zavala untangles one hand from Cayde’s scarf and launches it as a fist right for that cheeky mouth. He’s surprised to see the blow connect, so much that he doubts it really did until the sting registers in his bare knuckles and Cayde’s chin slowly drifts back down. In a wild moment, Zavala thinks he’d like to do it again. But the instant he starts to draw his arm back for a second blow, a vice snags his wrist and a second crushing hold pops the knuckles of the hand still buried in Cayde’s scarf.

   “You know what your real issue is, Commander?”

   For all the pain in Zavala’s right fist, Cayde’s face is hardly even scuffed.

   Zavala always thought the Cayde that ‘ran through the Crucible as if it were a game’ was the same Cayde that tries to convince new Titan’s they have to win a one-handed pushup contest before they can meet Zavala, the Cayde that just recently snuck a garishly cheerful sticker on the side of Eris Morn’s ship just to see what she’d do when she discovered it. But now…now Zavala is sure that Cayde didn’t simply laugh his way through a few unsuspecting opponents with clever tricks and flashy gunplay. Cayde took out the opposition with the cold strength and unyielding resolve to strike that Zavala feels dripping from every inch of the Hunter right in this moment.

    “You are so concerned with the way people see you,” Cayde’s whispered words are almost clipped in distaste and then the Hunter comes back with a mocking impression that has Zavala eager for the grip on his fist to falter for just a second, “‘Oh, Ikora _knows_ , the Speaker _knows_ , _Hideo_ _knows_!’ What do you think is so wrong with you that you’re tripping over yourself trying to hide it?”

   Zavala doesn’t have an answer that can cut past the lock of his jaw or the foul taste in his mouth. It doesn’t matter since it only seems to be a rhetorical question in Cayde’s sharp speech.

    “You spend so much time fussin’ about your image but that’s not what really gets ya so bent out of shape. No, the way I see it, you’ve been stuck in this Tower so long that you forgot how to enjoy yourself. And now you’re afraid that if you start having fun again, you’ll lose whatever it is that makes you such a good Commander. I think that you think too damn much, Zavala.”

   The crushing hold on Zavala's left hand disappears about the time he feels the tug on the bare strappings of his chest that would normally anchor his armor. Less than a second later, his vision is a blur of metal and neon blue and something firm presses against his mouth. Almost as soon, the pressure’s gone. Though his eyes take longer to refocus.

   Rather belatedly, a sense of actual time catches up to Zavala and he realizes that it wasn’t really all that quick. He saw Cayde coming, had time to act, and simply chose not to.

   “ _Feel_ anything?” Cayde asks with one hand still holding a leash on Zavala and the other gloved hand creeping from Zavala’s sore wrist and up his arm.

   Yeah. Yeah, Zavala feels a few things. Like his heart hammering in his throat and the urge to lick the phantom pressure on his lips. And maybe he still feels just a little bit of anger about the fact that Cayde kissed him first. And maybe the only way to get over that is to kiss the Hunter back.

   He tugs one-handed on Cayde’s scarf but finds he doesn’t have to pull very hard before their mouths crash into each other.

   There’s absolutely no give to Cayde’s lips, which Zavala would have foreseen if he’d allowed himself to ever think about actually kissing the Exo. It's...strange for sure. Not quite like any kiss Zavala's ever experienced. Warm lips do not shift around his own. But the wide, smooth plates do move up and down with the Exo’s jaw and catch Zavala’s flesh teasingly between cool metal.

   And he damn well knows he's metaphorically shot himself in the foot here because now that Zavala has trampled the pathetic remainder of his resolve, how the hell is he not supposed to think about what it's like to kiss the Hunter Vanguard? A little thrill zings across Zavala’s lips before tickling the roof of his mouth and lighting up his jaw. This is what arousal was meant to be. There’s more than just that though; there’s an almost literal spark dancing between the Awoken’s lips and his brain. It must be Cayde’s Light coming out to mingle with Zavala’s own. The Commander swallows the sensation and slides his lips from Cayde’s plating just briefly enough to suck down some air when the warmth that starts from the grip on his arm flares throughout his body and threatens to instantly undo him- Light bringing the living heat that's missing without skin. If this is any indication, Cayde knows very well how to compensate for his mechanical body when with a flesh and blood partner.

  Speaking of the Exo, he does not stop just because Zavala’s mouth is now occupied with the concept of breathing. The flat space between upper lip and forehead dips down to nuzzle at Zavala’s partially exposed neck and the space under his jaw. Zavala's groan could be the close cousin of a sigh.

   "Took you long enough," Cayde grumbles against Zavala's pulse. "Was worried we were gonna dance around this forever."

   The confirmation that Cayde is not simply willing but was actually waiting sends a jolt through the Awoken that is equal parts mortification and relief. He fists the Hunter's wide belt and walks two short steps to pin Cayde to the most readily available solid surface. A very small part of Zavala's brain- the part firmly anchored to his role as Commander- nags that maybe they should slow this down a fraction of a second. But the majority of his thoughts are centered around the idea of following this to a natural end and maybe finally finding the satisfaction he needs. The overhead lights blind Zavala as he tips his head back to allow Cayde free reign so he simply closes his eyes. With one sense gone, Zavala can feel much more acutely. Not only can he track the smooth drag of leather as the Exo’s hand wraps up and around the unattended side of his neck, but Zavala can sense the warmth of Light in each digit of a metal hand as they trace Zavala's tattoo. The buzzing wall that is the rest of Cayde’s body rises up to meet him. It’s all a bit overwhelming and, even though he swore he’d taken care of this earlier, the throbbing between his legs proves his body is more than willing to repeat itself.

   But to let himself go so soon seems like a waste and he hasn’t exactly given Cayde anything to write home about yet either. While his memory may be patchy, he does know he never leaves a partner unsatisfied. Zavala peels the Exo’s fingers off his neck with one hand and gently pushes the metal face away with the other but it’s only so that the Awoken can slot his mouth back against Cayde’s in a pleasure that seems to be mutual judging by the way Cayde’s left hand digs into Zavala’s right hip. Metal lips are much warmer than earlier and it’s hard to say whether the heat is residual from Zavala’s neck or emanating from the Hunter himself. The Commander assigns one hand the task of cupping Cayde’s face, using his thumb to keep the jutting chin pushed down and pointer and index fingers to keep a cheek plate propped high and allow him plenty of room to move in and really get a feel for the place. Even though Exo’s may not have been made with sex in mind, Cayde’s face feels like it was designed to be kissed.

   Zavala slips his tongue forward and straight past Cayde’s lips for a little recon. The space beyond is blazing hot against his tongue and the temperature only increases the further back he explores. Cayde’s mouth is surprisingly shallow and Zavala thinks he might be able to lick the voice box that vibrates in the back if he puts his mind to it. First though, he explores the walls, tongue only dipping back into his own mouth to retrieve more saliva- since Exo’s don’t appear to self-manufacture an equivalent- before returning to map the sides that are definitely some kind of soft rubber given the taste and texture. The only real regret since they’ve begun is that Cayde has no tongue to tangle with. If the Exo doesn’t taste and doesn’t need the organ to shape words, then it makes sense. Though after further prodding, Zavala does find the soft floor of Cayde’s mouth capable of subtle movement that responds by trying to rise up and meet Zavala’s tongue. Whatever lies beneath the dotted material, it is strong and impressively flexible Zavala discovers when it rises up to cradle the shape of his own organ. So maybe Cayde does have a sort of tongue. And whatever the cavern is made of, it must contain some kind of sensors given the tiny snippets of reactionary sound vibrating in their joined mouths.

  Shuffling of feet creates accidental friction against his thighs which tears Zavala’s focus lower and he decides he and Cayde are not nearly close enough physically for his tastes. The Hunter’s right arm is caught awkwardly between them as he continues to fist the loose strap of Zavala’s suit and the Hunter shakes his head in blatant refusal when Zavala tries to uncurl those fingers so they can stand flush chest to chest. Apparently Cayde has found what he believes to be insurance against Zavala running away again. But the joke’s on Cayde because Zavala isn’t going anywhere rooted to Cayde’s mouth as he is. Perhaps prompted by the perceived reluctance, Cayde’s other arm loops low around the Commander’s back and his hips roll forward in an obvious invitation. Zavala can’t very well refuse. Thinking back to that Hunter lounge, Zavala decides he wants to pull another one of those sighs out of Cayde.

   Using one spectacularly embarrassing evening as his guide, Zavala gathers Light in his hands (doing his best not to think about where it comes from) before smoothing them against the Exo’s chest and trailing downward. Cayde’s entire body jerks but this time it’s a move to get closer to Zavala rather than farther away. They hold there for a moment, a constant press front to front with Zavala’s hands trapped just above the Hunter’s belt and still channeling Light, until Cayde begins to shake. A small noise rattles around in the back of Cayde’s throat, something between a word and crackle of static. But it’s not quite the sound Zavala wants.

   The Commander pushes onward, forcing the Exo to lean backward in the face of overwhelming pursuit until they run out of room to fall. A bright metallic sound rings in Zavala’s ears- a data scroll striking the marble floor maybe. Cayde’s lips pinch almost like teeth. Which any other time might feel painful but now only spurs Zavala’s Light-infused hands to begin a rough gripping journey across the frame under him. With each squeze or digging stroke Cayde bucks and squirms and the fine tremble never seems to leave either. He has no experience with Exos but Zavala would bet the entire contents of his vault that Cayde is on the edge of some spectacular precipice. And the only thing Zavala wants more than his own finish, is to push Cayde over into the unknown.

   Engaging with a partner is so much better than Zavala remembered…or imagined that he remembered. He opens his eyes just for a moment, just long enough to see Cayde beneath him and cement that image of the Exo in rightful Hunter garb instead of some Warlock's padded layers, before the bright flare of electronic eyes force Zavala to close his own again. His fingers seek out all the locations ripe for zippers or clasps, already dying to know what’s beneath all that worn-in leather even as he continues to grind his hips down and plunder Cayde’s mouth. The Hunter jerks and a word dies in his throat as it breaks against Zavala’s tongue. Finally, Zavala discovers a seam along Cayde’s spine and follows it up until he roots out the head of a zipper at the back of Cayde’s neck. Now the Hunter is writhing and twisting beneath Zavala with even greater urgency, knees squeezing red-clothed ribs and groin dragging against lower abs as the Hunter nearly bows off the table.

   “Za…ba…Zava…”

   Only snippets of the word make it past Cayde’s lips but that’s alright. Zavala understands the moaning, fragmented sentiment. Cayde, no doubt, wants to rub it in.

   “Yes,” a ragged agreement slips out between attacks on the Hunter’s mouth- a mouth Zavala finds himself consumingly addicted to in spite of, or perhaps due to, the novelty of it. “You were right.”

   Right about everything. About Zavala. Right about this being exactly what he needs.

   But then Cayde halts the Commander’s hand on the hidden zipper with a near painful constriction and one of the Hunter’s heels pushes against Zavala’s hip and something suddenly feels very wrong.

   A metal plate knicks the Commander’s lower lip when Cayde wrenches his face to the side and frees his voice. “Zavala, stop!”

   Bewildered but heeding Cayde's command, Zavla stills as completely as he can while his body continues to suck down air and his final aborted thrust results in an awkward jerk of his hips against Cayde. His eyes finally open to search the Exo’s face for some kind of explanation. There’s no way Zavala misinterpreted the situation so that can only mean a change of heart on the Exo’s end but why...

   "Damnit," Cayde swears in a voice soft and heavy with remorse, "I tried to tell you."

   Head slowly clearing as his pulse eases, now Zavala can feel that tumultuous sparking to Cayde’s Light that he knows means worry in Athena. The Exo’s overly wide blue eyes flick to the side and he nods pointedly in the same direction. Zavala follows the gaze and his heart lurches.

   Near the top of the stairs stands Shaxx, feet planted on two different steps, body twisted awkwardly like he’d started down the stairs backward and stopped quite abruptly with his visor turned to the war room. The Handler’s left hand is still raised haltingly at Ikora Rey who stands equally frozen with a single shapely finger raised but curved in a withered version of an authoritative gesture. Arcite 99-40 is just beyond Ikora’s shoulder, horned head tilted ever-so-slightly.

   At some point, Zavala’s hand had slipped down to cradle the back of Cayde’s thigh and hold it high allowing ample room to settle between the Hunter's legs. Now the Commander releases the limb hurriedly and Cayde's heeled boot thuds against the floor, horrifically loud in the dead silence, as Zavala puts two panicked steps between himself and the Vanguard still laid out on the war table.

   “We attempted to halt Ms. Ikora Rey,” Arcite’s monotone cuts through the room. “We were unsuccessful.”


	9. D1: Dark Below .6

   “I can explain.” The words spill from Zavala’s mouth reflexively. Which is tragic because he instantly realizes that he really can’t.

   “Oh?” Shaxx is quick to challenge and the disbelieving quirk of his lips is audible from beneath the iconic, horned helm. “I thought the situation was pretty self-explanatory. Didn’t you, Ikora?”

   The Warlock Vanguard, in all her stalwart grace, very nearly winces.

   “It isn’t how it looks!” Blind panic has robbed Zavala of things like volume control and the sense not to rise to Shaxx’s casual baiting- the only two things that might have made some kind of turnaround possible.

   “Zavala,” Cayde tosses up a halting hand and rises from the war table just enough to brace an elbow against one knee and clamp a hand to his eyes in a gesture Zavala is very familiar with himself. “Go easy on the clichés. This is already painful enough.”

   Well, by the Traveller, Cayde does possess some measure of shame! Though his metal ass is still planted on the war table and that makes it very difficult for Zavala to pretend he wasn’t just rutting against the Hunter Vanguard atop his own damn map.

   “Then stand up!” Zavala hisses.

   The hand falls from mechanical eyes in an incredulous, open-palmed demand. “The hell you mad at me for?”

   “Are you serious?” The time it takes to cycle between punching Cayde, kissing him, and wanting to punch him again is abhorrent. “ _You_  kissed _me_ , Cayde!”

   “Yeah, for like one second,” the Exo mumbles as he finally slides off the Vanguard table and adjusts his hood. “You’re the one who went for full ‘date night.”

   “Boys…” a smooth voice bounces right off the bubble of indignant rage Zavala is building around himself.

   “Unbelievable!" Zavala vibrates head to toe. "You’re going to act as if you had no part in that? Look me in the eye and tell me that this isn’t _exactly_ what you’ve been reducing me to for weeks!”

   Cayde retreats a jerky half-step back, mechanical irises rapidly resizing and hands drifting waist high defensively. When Zavala moves to follow, there’s already a hand firmly blocking his advance. Ikora is there, in the corner of Zavala’s eye, with a strong hand against the Awoken’s un-armored chest and eventually the soothing waves against his buzzing eardrums become the Warlock’s voice.

   “Easy, Zavala.”

   Ikora is cool water but a stubborn part of Zavala does not want his anger extinguished. Just steps away, Cayde’s right hand is poised but not quite reaching for the knife at his left hip. It’s annoying, insulting. It stokes the fire of Zavala’s ire and his fists ache with the heat.

   “Easy,” Ikora repeats for what is surely the twelfth time. Fingers like ice wrap around the hand closest to her.  “You don’t need that here.”

   He’s so busy tracking the microscopic progress of Cayde’s finger’s drifting toward that knife that, for a moment, Ikora’s meaning is lost and frustration has blunt nails digging harder into the rough flesh of Zavala’s palm. That minor pain tugs at his attention and something _off_ nags his brain until he realizes the heat throbbing up his forearms isn’t merely in his mind. In the tense quiet of the hall, a crackling like dead leaves trampled underfoot is the only sound Zavala hears right before the clack of his molars as he clamps his jaw in disgusted horror.  He does not need to see the static sparking from his hands to know he is holding the beginnings of a Fist of Havoc. Damn Cayde…every time…

   Soothing sweetness gives way to hard authority. “Put it away, Zavala.”

   This is not who he is. Certainly not who he wants to be. He wants to take Cayde by the shoulders and shake him, to shout, and argue until Cayde understands why Zavala is the way he is and what change means to him but he never wants to see the Exo watching him so intently with fingers prepped to draw a weapon. And no matter how intentional the Hunter may or may not be in his provocation, Cayde cannot be pinned with the blame each time Zavala slips. This is the Awoken’s anger, his flaw and burden. His mistakes are his to own... as frightening as the thought may be. The Commander closes his eyes as his chin dips downward. He takes the Light clamoring for havoc in his arms, reroutes it back until it spreads and dissipates throughout his entire body in an unpleasant prickling sensation as his nerves are sent into a tizzy. He fights the urge to shake off that sleeping limb-feeling as he lets his body sort itself out. Once the danger has passed, Zavala looks to Ikora and nods in assurance of his own control.

   “My deepest apologies,” the Commander offers to everyone and no one in particular.

   Ikora finally releases his hand. If that direct contact with Zavala’s Arc affinity had any effect on her, she certainly doesn’t show it.

   Cayde’s hand drops that fraction of an inch that makes the difference between casual and ready to defend.

   “Fucks sake,” Shaxx snorts from the stairs and directs a careless shrug of crossed arms at his Arcite frame. “I’m not sure if he’s trying to screw ‘im or kill ‘im at this point.”

   “I’m sorry,” Zavala throws it out again, this time with a single target, but Cayde gives no indication he’s heard- instead choosing that moment to turn his back on the Titan and Warlock Vanguards and begin smoothing his woefully rumpled map. “Cayde-“

   A waterfall of sparkling blue interrupts the view of Cayde’s back and a white shell materializes inches from the Commander’s face.

   “Zavala!” Athena sighs in relief before continuing in a rush. “There you are! What happened to not leaving the room? You promised me you- Nevermind. Ikora wants you in the Hall of Guardians five minutes ago-“

   Zavala’s Ghost twitches in sudden realisation and takes a darting look around, “-oh, I see we’re already here. And where is the rest of your gear?”

   The Commander clears his throat uncomfortably as the most recent events and dubviousness of his suits compression abilities catch up to him but Athena is transmatting his armor in place before he even has to ask.

   “We’ve wasted enough time.” Ikora cuts in, suddenly all business. “Athena, where is Albus?”

   “Already with Eris, Ma’am."

   Zavala is not truly surprised his Ghost chose to spend the first bit of free time in years with Ikora's.

   "Her strike team is assembled and will be touching down in the Cosmodrome in T minus four minutes.”

   “Strike team?” Cayde beats Zavala to it by a fraction of a second but still doesn't grace the other Vanguards with a view of his face. “Eris need something dead?”

   “Omnigul,” Ikora confirms as she takes up her spot across from the Hunter.

   “Whoa!” Cayde whistles. “Big fish. We’re just shy of Crota.”

   “Yes, but Omnigul comes first. We have her in the Jovian Complex. We must put her down now before she’s able to raise Crota’s army. If not…”

   “Then we may not live to face the god himself,” Zavala finishes as he settles into his own post at the head of the war table.

   “Well, that bit of grim is almost worthy of Eris,” the Hunter Vanguard keeps his eyes firmly focused on the lit data pad in his hands.

   “Cayde,” Ikora is back in before Zavala can decide whether or not to comment further, “If you have a scout in the area, we could use some hard intel.”

   “Already on it.” Cayde summons his Ghost and points to the digital roster in his left hand. “This one. Give me a direct line, buddy.”

   To sink back into battle plans is a welcome relief for Zavala at this point. “What do you need of me, Ikora?”

   The Warlock considers the Titan briefly. “While my Ghost is acting as Eris’ aid, I need yours to continue acting as the bridge between Eris and the Vanguard. And you, I believe, are still on leave.”

   Zavala balks. “You want me to go?”

   Athena makes an unsettling whirring noise that mirrors her Guardian's indignation.

   Ikora turns to Shaxx instead who’s still loitering about the stairs.  “Where are your Redjacks?”

   The Crucible Handler and Commander meet gazes across the hall, acknowledging the awkwardness for only a second before plans forge ahead.

   “Closest team is clearing out a new arena on Mars.”

   “We need a perimeter set up in Skywatch to be certain nothing follows our strike team.”

   “Now hold up,” Shaxx begins, voiced tilted toward disobedience, “If we pull out, the firebase on Delphi will be that much more difficult to take.”

   "Your arena isn't going anywhere." There's a subtle chill coming from Ikora's side of the room. 

   “I can assemble a team in no time,” Zavala interjects as a poorly disguised plea to Ikora. Then he offers a pointed look to Shaxx. “One that knows how to maintain a perimeter.”

   The other Titan sneers behind his helmet when he catches the thinly veiled dig. "Oh, piss off!”

   “Enough!” Ikora has hit her limit of foolishness for one night. “Zavala, it is a strike; not a full-blown battle. We can manage without you for one evening so I _strongly_ suggest you finish your leave! And Lord Shaxx, I did not _request_ a perimeter team.”

   “Smoked,” comes a whisper from Cayde’s direction.

   “Fine,” the helmeted Titan grunts, “You want the Redjacks, then you’ll have the damn Redjacks.”

   “Thank you,” Ikora responds flatly.

   Zavala should feel anchored while standing in his usual place of command but the location feels foreign while he is completely robbed of power. Even if he can reason it is rightfully so, the whole thing is far too close to a fear realized. This is Eris' strike and Ikora is more than capable of supporting with the power of the Vanguard so he doesn't fear for the mission itself but the ease whith which he is rendered unneeded leaves him shaken. He has never done well without some measure of control. Uncertainty is as troubling as any physical enemy. If he must, Zavala will leave the Hall of Guardians for the remainder of the strike but he cannot do it without first knowing what awaits him after. Shaxx makes a move to return to his desk and gather his Guardians and the bubble of anxiety pops in Zavala’s chest.

   “Wait! About the earlier incident…” The Awoken looks to Cayde in case the Hunter’s devious mind has spawned some clever solution but all he receives is a steely blue stare narrowed in a non-verbal order for silence. Zavala’s own face contorts in irritation. It’s not as if he’s done something appalling by bringing it back up. This was not something they were going to be able to hide from! The room grows uncomfortably quiet again as several lines of sight are established and almost immediately broken. Zavala’s and Cayde’s Ghosts seem to be the only two beings who can maintain contact and theirs is just a shared look of confusion.

   “Tonight’s incident doesn’t leave the five of us.” Ikora’s calm authority rings out just far enough to encompass the Crucible Handler and Quartermaster. Arcite 99-40 instantly recognizes an order and chimes his confirmation though it takes Shaxx a moment before he offers a half shrug of the barest acknowledgement.

   “Incident?” Athena finally queries for those parties who were luckily not present. “What incident?”

   Zavala waves the concern away. The only upside to this tragedy is that Athena wasn't there to witness it.

   Satisfied with the Crucible duo’s agreement, Ikora redirects herself to Zavala and Cayde in turn. “Unless either of you object to that.”

   “No.” Zavala’s heart finally begins to settle for the first time in a while. “We would appre-“

   “Yeah, probably for the best,” is Cayde’s half-garbled response.

   “Make no mistake,” Ikora commands even Cayde to meet her eyes, “this was a singular event. It was absolute contempt of professionalism and if I see another blatant validation of the rumors buzzing around, the two of you will have much worse than Lord Shaxx or me to deal with. What you do on your own time is your business, but I expect far better discretion in the future. Do you understand?”

   “We understand completely.”

   “No macking on the war table. Got it.”

   “Wait!” Athena’s panels rotate wildly. “Who was what?!”

 

 


	10. D1: Dark Below .7

   Four more hours.

   According to the helium-based glow of Commander Zavala’s timepiece, he still has four more hours until his leave terminates and he can once again enter the Hall of Guardians in any official capacity. Four more sleepless, agonizing hours. Zavala huffs at the memorized expanse of his ceiling before rolling onto his front and letting his face sink deep into his pillow. A dull, wistful thought suggests he could simply stay there for a while, allow himself to slowly smother to death. But realistically, he’ll only be revived the moment Athena feels his Light flicker out and, honestly, what will a melodramatic death have done for him?

   An unfairly happy beep notifies him that the small handheld stationed next to his pillow has received a new message. The pillow swallows the worst of his growl. The device is there for emergencies, in case something game-changing were to happen that would require the strength and leadership of the entire Vanguard. But, so far, the only messages the Awoken has received have all been less than professional or even encouraging. And from his own Ghost too…

   Still, this time may be an emergency. Perhaps Omnigul’s forces are too strong. Maybe the Fallen have called in reinforcements leaving Shaxx’s Redjacks outnumbered… Zavala pushes himself up on one arm and grabs the device, every muscle in his body tense with grim expectation and a sliver of hope.

_[Cayde and Zavala sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-]_

   Zavala knocks the handheld spitefully to the floor where it lands face-down, light of the open screen glowing around the edges in continued taunt. Whoever taught Athena that Pre-Golden Age rhyme is going to die.

   As annoyance rekindles true anger at these last weeks in general, Zavala swings out of bed- bare feet stinging as they slap the floor- to take two steps and drop to all fours for yet another set of pushups. On the fourth rise, someone knocks on the door. Muscles tense in their hold before Zavala shakes his head in denial and lowers his chest to the floor. A second knock echoes through the room right on the tail of the first and Zavala shifts his weight, tucks his left arm behind his back and pours all his focus into single-handed pushups.

   “You are NOT answering that,” he tells himself in bitter warning. If anything truly important were to warrant his attention, he has the damn handheld communicator.

   A moment of silence passes and Zavala breaths a small sigh of relief but as he extends his right arm, a rapid series of insistent knocks has him glaring at the entrance to his room. Whoever it is either has no idea what they’re getting into or has some serious balls. So help him, if it’s that Awoken female Hunter again…the Titan rises to his feet and jerks the door open so violently that it slams against its frame.

   Turns out he’s a third correct. There is a Hunter standing outside his door.

   “WHAT. NOW?” The Commander bites out.

   Cayde’s eyes do this thing, a narrowing combined with an upturning slope of fine plates that make his expression seem confused. His tone comes off with the same derisive power of a scoff. “Uh, can I come in?”

   “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” the Awoken replies in full honesty.

   Cayde tucks his thumbs behind his belt and half shrugs. “Why? You gonna try and smash me again?”

   Zavala’s grip on the door intensifies. “That depends quite a bit on _why_ you’re here. Shouldn’t you be in the war room focused on Omnigul?”

   “Already got her…it?…her?" Cayde bobs his head, apparently settling on the pronoun. But, as casual as the gesture looks, the illusion of ease is ruined by the absolutely awkward prattle that follows. “Her. Yep. Good and dead. Nice, and uh, simple mission. No complications. Just a lot of Wizards…an Ogre…Knights and the, uh, Accolytes…You know, lot’s of…Hive.”

   A leather-clad hand jerks toward Cayde’s mouth when the Hunter realizes the utter trash of a mission summary spilling from his lips. Static crackles like a throat clearing and the hand aborts its journey mouthward to rest back at Cayde’s waist. Zavala might find amusement in watching the usually smooth man flounder if he didn’t know there was some kind of intent buried beneath all that word garbage.

   The Hunter attempts to marshal on but his eyes shift too quickly to fool the Commander into thinking the strike details are of any importance to the Exo. “Ikora’s leading cleanup and doin’ her whole data collection thing. You know how she loves that stuff. And me…well, I convinced her you and I need to have a talk.”

   There it is.

   When Zavala doesn’t respond beyond the tight set of his jaw, Cayde shifts in one of the most subtle shows of discomfort Zavala’s ever seen.

   “It’s not exactly the kind of conversation you wanna have in a hallway,” the Exo prods quietly.

   Zavala relents only because he worries Cayde will discuss whatever he’s come for whether they’re in a private setting or not. He takes a step back so far that it borders on comical and still he feels the pull of Cayde’s Light as the Hunter Vanguard passes over the threshold. Zavala itches to demand if the Exo is doing it willfully but is afraid to pause until they’re both sealed on the same side of the door.

  It's decidedly awkward. Cayde has never been in Zavala’s quarters. Truthfully, the space has been off limits to anyone but the Awoken himself for the better part of a decade. The other Vanguard takes slow steps as he sizes up the main room and Zavala’s unimpressive spattering of personal effects. All things considered, it’s a short and relatively tactful exploration of private space until the Hunter comes to the single bed and begins to sit.

   “Not there,” Zavala growls.

   Cayde looks to the rumpled surface beneath him with surprise and hums an amused noise deep in the back of his mouth- as if he’d somehow forgotten it wasn’t his own room and his own bed he was about to lounge on- before sauntering across the room and taking the desk chair as if nothing happened. But to Zavala, Cayde’s original destination seems too careless to have been a simple mistake. That was calculated; a test of Zavala’s receptiveness. The Commander chooses not to sit at all and instead relocks the door and crosses his arms. He doesn’t want Cayde to feel comfortable in this room.

   The Hunter doesn't seem much fazed by the Commander's posturing as he slouches into Zavala's chair. “I’m thinking that, between the two of us, we’ve got a couple hundred years of good maturity. So we can talk about this like adults, yeah?”

   Cayde mimics Zavala’s crossed arms but the gesture seems more instinctively protective than sarcastic. “I pride myself on being pretty sharp but I admit that you’re gonna have to help me out here. I’ve been getting some seriously mixed signals these last few weeks. One minute we are all set to go but then you’re freaking out. Admittedly, we got pretty busted upstairs but-”

   “We’re not _going_ anywhere,” Zavala interjects, not needing a recap of what happened between them. He knows what it was. “We made a mistake. I thought this was something I needed and you thought it was something I wanted.”

   “You’re trying to tell me neither of those things are true?”

   Zavala scowls at his bare feet and wishes he hadn’t removed his armor again. He's never felt so naked.

   “I bet if we had sex right here and now, we’d both enjoy it.”

   Cayde’s utter surety hits just as hard as the words themselves. The calm composure of living metal and shifting lights make it difficult to lie.

   “I cannot contest that,” the Awoken begrudgingly admits to a point on the floor roughly halfway between them. He’s come to grips with the fact that a lack of attraction is not the problem here, “but I have to live with myself after.”

   The Exo laughs- a bright and genuinely surprised sound that rankles given the current mood. “That’s not the kind of thing a man wants to hear when he offers to have sex with someone.”

   “Well, I’m sorry to have bruised your ego!”

   “I genuinely don’t get it,” Cayde mutters nearly stunned. He folds at the waist, elbows on knees and chin on interlocked fingers, and stares as if Zavala’s reluctance is a puzzle and the answer is written somewhere between blue brows and a deepening frown. “You’re here. I’m here. We both want it. Soo…”

   “Fraternizing is a terrible idea.”

   “I know, but...,” Cayde shakes his head and stands, whatever tight hold he had on self-control snapping and leaving a ragged edge to his voice. “I’ve always been opposed to the idea of Friendly Fire too. I mean, there’s a reason having sex with a fireteam member has the same connotation as accidentally shooting your buddy in the back. But Friendly Fire is about not making stupid decisions in the field. We are very much _not_ in the field, Zavala.”

   Every inch the Hunter drifts closer increases the patronization of Zavala’s rebuttal. “You don’t think a physical affair would affect our judgment at all?”

   “Oh, please." The Hunter’s head shakes carelessly. “You flatter us both to think a little casual sex is going to change the way we operate. You will continue to be a rock and I will continue to do what needs to get done. Only we’ll both do it with a lot less stress.”

   “Cayde, I can’t!” He doesn’t know if it’s his fist colliding with the door behind him or the pathetically desperate edge to his own voice but something finally stops the Hunter in his tracks.

   The Hunter Vanguard softens. The almost predatory coil of his body slackens in something not quite like defeat and those hands drift up, half protesting and half reaching for Zavala as if he might disappear like some spooked animal. “Ok. I’m sorry. I’m gonna respect your decision. If that’s really what you want.”

   Zavala breathes a painfully deep sigh of relief.

   “But I’d be crazy not to ask; Why the hell not?”

   “By the Travellers Light!” Zavala digs finger tips into the recesses around his eyes. Why can’t they let it rest?

   Cayde apparently has no such intentions, and even though his voice is still exuding calm, the pointed determination of a man with a mark cuts through the air.

   “Why couldn’t you be a Titan?” Zavala spews in a whisper. Titans respect a wall when they see it being built. No, he just had to get mixed up with a Hunter- an entire class of Guardian to which walls are merely suggestions. But Cayde either can't hear or ignores the wish entirely.

   “You heard Ikora. Nobody’s gonna care what we do as long as we keep it under wraps.”

   “I’m not interested in casual sex with you, Cayde!”

   “Ok but is it the casual, the sex, or the Cayde part you’re stuck on?"

   Zavala rubs at the tension collecting in the back of his neck.

   "Are you a Purist?" Cayde asks, head quirking with doubt. "You don’t strike me as one of those people who only do the deed with your own race. Is it an Exo thing? The body puts some people off but...oh. Is it a dude thing?”

   “No, Cayde." As infuriating as the doggedness is, it isn't fair for the Hunter to think that he's the reason Zavala cant say yes. "I have nothing against you. I believe, on some levels, you would be an excellent partner.”

   Gods. Did that come out of his mouth? This is not as solid a refusal as he was aiming for. The space between Exo and the door at the Awoken’s back begins to feel like a prison. Zavala escapes to the side, skirting past Cayde and into the freedom of the open room beyond. Light licks along his side in passing and he never knew it could feel _hungry_. His own Light racks his insides in a gnawing wave of response, like the empty ache that sometimes pulls at his gut but everywhere- seemingly impossible to suppress. The sensation is there and gone in a second but it leaves his hands shaking and he wishes he had something as simple as pockets.

   “Listen, Cayde. And I mean it, really listen. When I began as a Vanguard, I was carelessly involved with what turned out to be a factioneer. I’d thought it was consensual and meaningless but that wasn’t the case. They wanted to use me.” He can’t help but sneer at the very thought as much as his own stupidity.

   “They were trying to strong-arm me into inviting their faction into the Tower, to give them power in exchange for their silence. I was new, unproven, and that kind of character blackmail would have reduced my credibility to nothing. Saladin was there to pull me out of the fire just once and then it became my duty to ensure I’m worthy of being called Vanguard. Politics and my reputation are not some game, Cayde. Even though that old faction is now defunct, I very nearly ruined everything. I won’t take the risk again. Do you understand?"

   Cayde is quiet and still, the most stationary Zavala’s ever seen him. Until his body convulses in a full laugh.

   “Wait,” Cayde’s shoulders bounce in an infuriating holdover instinct from a time when his human body would have been fighting for breath, “you boned one power-grabbing sleaze and stopped having sex altogether? That is the saddest and the _funniest_ thing I have ever heard!”

   Zavala’s glare could knock a Dreg on its ass. He fists the leather covering those quaking shoulders and half pushes, half drags Cayde to the door. “GET OUT!”

   “Whoa, whoa, whoa!”

   Cayde tries to twists and dance away but is no match for the rage-fueled grip of a Titan and only succeeds in tangling his legs with Zavala’s until they both falter and the Exo’s back crashes into the very door Zavala’s trying to force the Hunter through.

   “I didn’t mean it like- It’s not nearly as funny as it is just horribly sad!” And damn if Cayde doesn’t sound as if he truly believes it. Shoulders and chest push into Zavala, fighting him back when the Awoken very nearly has a hand on the lock. “I’m just trying to help us both.”

   “You need to leave. Now.”

   “We’re on the same side, Zavala. I’m not going to do anything to hurt the Vanguard. I’m not gonna hurt you.” In the continued struggle, Cayde manages to pitch their combined weight and use Zavala’s own momentum to reverse their positions and pin a startled Commander chest first to the door with near painful force. “Unless you ask me to hurt you.”

   “Damnit, Cayde!” Zavala finally manages to growl when he beats all his organs back down into their rightful place. The Hunter’s _purr_ …and that damn Light! It fills every sparse inch between them, it pushes and it pulls, and it _wants_ and it makes Zavala forget to fight back for a moment. Finally, Zavala gathers his wits and squirms round to face Cayde only to lose his breath when the Exo dips in close enough to kiss. “Damnit!”

   “You already said that.”

   “It bears repeating,” he grits out and hisses through his teeth when Cayde’s hands settle on his hips, push him back flush against the door.

   “Were you going to punish yourself forever?” Cayde pries suddenly in what is less a question and more a challenge. "For one mistake?"

   Dual thumbs begin a slow but firm caress and Zavala’s head bangs into the door as his body jerks. The strokes grow progressively larger until there are two lines burning from the bottom of Zavala’s ribs down into the narrow cuts of his lower abs. Cayde only grows bolder the longer Zavala remains in choking silence until those sparking fingers trail down and inward dangerously close. The Commander stills them completely- his own fists like shackles around the Hunter’s slightly slimmer wrists.

   "You do need this," Cayde insists softly. "And I'm pretty damn sure you want it. What good is there in making yourself miserable after you've learned your lesson? The only thing standing in your way is you so just, I don't know, give yourself permission to move on?"

   The logic...is frightfully sound. And Zavala is already unspeakably hard. Still, after years of denial, he is not so easily swayed. He shudders and swallows.

   “We...will need to have rules.”

   A wicked sense of satisfaction bleeds into Cayde’s Light giving that hunger a buoyant edge. “No macking on the war table. I already got it.”

   “I am not joking,” Zavala warns and squeezes when fingers flutter against his combat suit. “We agree to rules and we follow them every time.”

   “Every time?” The chuckle is heavy with approval. “Planning on a repeat already?”

   “We’ll take it one encounter at a time. Now, rules.” It’s difficult to keep his eyes open, almost as if Light has settled along his lashes and weighed down his lids. It could just be old-fashioned lust. But it’s important to see Cayde’s face, to know he treats this with respect- as a sort of contract.

   “Ok.” Electric blue shifts as the Exo puts real thought behind his answer and that alone helps to alleviate some of the fear that still prickles in the back of Zavala’s mind. “Everything is consensual. Every time.”

   Zavala’s nose crinkles at the obnoxious victory in Cayde’s voice but he nods in agreement of the most important rule. He offers the second most important rule. “Whatever happens stays between us.”

   A nod of agreement from the Hunter is not accompanied by any snide remark about their earlier transparency and Zavala thinks this _thing_ they’re agreeing to just might work out.

   “No obligations,” Cayde supplies, “we can ask for it but we each have the right to refuse.”

   “Doesn’t that fall under consent?”

   The fingers have started moving again, almost sneakily. Zavala allows it.

   “Fine then,” a crackle of a snort pops in the back of Cayde’s mouth, “no stupid faces when you come undone.”

   Zavala swallows a grunt of disapproval and bucks when Light-warmed hands squirm lower. “Are you taking this seriously?”

   “Absolutely,” Cayde nods with a perfectly straight face that says nothing of the devious things his hands are getting up to, “this is my sex life on the line too.”

   The Commander shakes his head in exasperation but presses on. “I want total honesty. If you don’t enjoy something, don’t act as if you do.”

   “What kind of a moron-“

   “Just agree.”

   “Whatever.” Cayde hums as Zavala allows his own hands to finally smooth across leather. “Anything else?”

   The Awoken’s mind goes blank when dexterous fingers trace the hard outline at the front of his suit. “We can add more later?”

   “I like later,” Cayde snickers and presses both of them harder against the door. “Just one more then: No falling in love with me.”

   Zavala rolls his eyes. The Hunter Vanguard just cannot resist one more joke apparently. “We’re safe there. Thank the Traveler.”

   With an outline of understanding established, Zavala wraps his hand around the back of Cayde’s neck- hood, scarf, and all- and pulls him in for a kiss before they ruin this with any more words. Cool metal meets his lips and the subtle heat beyond lures the Commander in. It's a bit unsettling how natural that already feels. The hands on his body burst with a stronger concentration of Light that causes him to pant against those lips. A satisfied snicker from Cayde turns the Titan's pant into a growl of challenge. Zavala snakes his arms behind Cayde and crushes them together in retaliation. This first time will be a battle, no question.

   “Ahem!”

   Zavala’s skull smacks against the door as he and Cayde flinch apart. Marion hovers at eye level, the single light somewhat dimmed as the frame tilts up and down as if eyeing the entwined Vanguards disapprovingly. And, Gods! Athena is just beyond.

   "Please," Cayde groans at his Ghost as he tries to lean in for another kiss, "just five more minutes. Better yet, pick me up in ten."

   Even with his skill set, the Hunter has trouble connecting with the mouth of a decidedly flustered and suddenly resistant Titan and only manages to connect with the palm of a halting hand.

   “Ahem!” The poorly faked cough is even more pointed the second time. "Ikora is waiting."

   Cayde’s hands drag slowly, reluctantly, away from all the places Zavala is aching. Both hands pat a single, awkward, conciliatory gesture against Zavala’s stuttering chest.

   “Damnit, Cayde. Do not tell me-”

   “Yeah, I can’t. Not now. I mean not _yet!_ This is absolutely a thing I wanna do.” Waving hands indicate the whole of Zavala braced against the door and at least the jitter of Cayde’s body matches the Commander’s. “But I’m still upstairs. Supposed to be. Ikora gave me fifteen minutes."

   "You are well past your allotted-" Marion tries to interrupt but Cayde waves it off in favor of addressing Zavala.

   "But it's fine," Cayde promises with his words and the hands returning to Zavala's chest both heavy with intent. "I just have to finish the rest of my shift...which…you will then take over…"

   The realization strikes them both that this is not happening within the next twenty-four hours.

   "Damn," Cayde mutters. "But raincheck, right?”

   Zavala huffs weeks of tension and delayed gratification in a deflating sigh but all he can do is nod and agree. “Raincheck.”

   Cayde shakes his head, humor in his posture warring with that need still warping his Light. “Well, I guess that-“

   Marion doesn’t even let the Hunter finish before transmatting the both of them away.

   Purposefully this time, Zavala knocks his head into the hard surface behind him and aims to think about anything other than the throbbing of his entire body.

   “Soo…” Athena drawls in obvious delight, “what’s new with you?”

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [visit me on tumblr? :D](https://fox-fic-and-ink.tumblr.com/)


	11. D1: Dark Below .8

_Light washes over his back, a thousand pinpricks of warmth that beat against the base of his neck and shoulders before the sensation runs downward in teasing little rivers that flow over the curves of his ass to tickle at the backs of thighs. Zavala shifts his hips, wordlessly demanding that touch elsewhere, and his needs are met when the Light snakes through the channels below sharp hipbones to pour directly over his aching erection and positively drip from the tip. He grits his teeth and burrows his face against unyielding warmth in front of him wishing his partner weren’t such a damn tease, wishing he could feel those metal hands dig into flesh already sensitive with Light that buzzes just beneath the surface._

_“Gods, Cayde…” And he’s not sure if he thinks it or says it but someone groans and the heavy ‘please’ is definitely implied._

_That chuckle! That damn collection of organic noise interspaced with faint clicks and static smoothing the whole thing into something Zavala might call husky. It rumbles faintly in Zavala’s ear and finally a hand is on his cock. The grip is tight, the pace brutal, and Zavala fumbles the rythym as he tries to thrust into that agonizingly perfect feeling of a steel cage and soft warmth. A second set of digits slip beneath the vigorously pumping hand to tentatively brush the compacted flesh below. His balls are high, tight and ready, so a gentle tug is all it takes for the Commander to spill all over the hand on his burning cock and coat the hard body beneath him._

   “Are you nearly finished?” Athena’s voice lances through fuzzy haze. “We’re going to be late for duty.”

   Zavala cracks his eyes open to grudgingly confirm the hard tile in front of his face, warmed by the press of his own skin and decorated with suspicious globs streaking down some of the lower tiles. He releases the almost bruising grip he has on the flesh between his legs and tips his head back into the scalding spray of the shower. At least his mind can clear a little around the edges now. Since his private meeting with Cayde, Zavala has spent far more time in the damn shower  _clearing his mind_  than he has spent actually bathing.

   At first, it was the hassle of conflicting shifts.

   Annoying? Yes.

   Insurmountable? No.

   At least not on its own. It’s the reality of a god-tier enemy who has yet to reveal himself and the never-ending cascade of other little things that prevent any kind of follow-through on Zavala and Cayde’s _arrangement._ It has left at least one of them ridiculously frustrated.

   “Are you ok in there?” Comes the query from the other side of the shower wall, glass steamed enough that Athena cannot possibly see the pathetic way Zavala straightens himself out.

    The Awoken is certain his little partner knows exactly what’s been going on. Though, after the incredibly long discussion they had following Cayde’s sudden departure the night of the Omnigul strike, Athena seems mostly content to act as if nothing is happening. Which is half true…Hunter and Titan haven’t actually managed to _do_ anything yet.

While Zavala is dispatching new strikes and monitoring defenses, Cayde is keeping half an eye on Eris as she gives commands from the seclusion of that alien ship outside Tower North. While Cayde’s coaching his scouts poking at the most active Hive sights on the moon, Zavala is updating the Speaker and snatching precious hours of sleep. For the first week, Athena had sweetly offered to convince Ikora to switch up the Vanguard rotation and thus ‘create an opportunity for recreation.’ Zavala might have even considered the offer if not for Ikora’s Hidden. He can’t very well risk the safety and effectiveness of an entire network at a crucial time because he wants their chief contact to swap schedules while he, as Cayde would put it, ‘gets laid’. Athena eventually dropped the idea with a disappointed sigh. And Cayde’s Ghost? Well, even after the seven day mark, Zavala occasionally catches Marion’s glare aimed in his direction. At least the Commander knows where their partners stand even if he doesn’t have time to root out the source of a certain Ghost’s silent displeasure. But if they haven’t managed more than two spectacularly interrupted kisses and apologetic, wistful looks as they pass each other to and from obligations, how much vitriol can a single shell hold after Cayde and Zavala find the time for something more?

   “Zavala!” Comes the third verbal nudge of the morning.

  “Yes, yes! Can’t a man dry off in peace?”

 

_____________

 

   Thirteen days after Cayde and Zavala’s agreement, the Hellmouth opens. A few short hours after finds all three Vanguard leaders around the war table, eyes like hawks focused on the holographic projection that reflects the unearthly glow of Hive power incarnate. And then, his final roar powerful even when echoing over distant comms, Crota falls. Ikora’s smile lights the room, more brilliant and rare than any engram. Zavala’s pride swells beyond his chest and warms the space. Cayde…Cayde’s voice fills every corner of the war room as he crows.

   “Did you see that killing blow? An invisible Hunter with a Swordbearrer’s own weapon!” Cayde pounds the table and pushes off to half bounce and half spin in a sloppy circle- excitement beyond containment- before swinging double fisted at the air in pantomime of the final strike. “Hell yes!”

   The joy is so infectious, Zavala doesn’t even mention the unprofessional outburst. His lips quirk into a real smile and he nods at the shifting hologram- feed live from one of the Ghosts down with the raid team- but nothing can stop the chuckle already puffing past his lips. “We saw, Cayde.”

   “We’re celebrating tonight, right?”

   The piercing force of Cayde’s expectant stare causes Zavala’s heart to jump in a way that is not entirely appropriate at the moment and it slows the Commander’s response enough that Cayde turns to Ikora instead for approval.

   “All three of us at that little bar! The one at the base of the Tower.” The Hunter Vanguard coaxes with a little warped logic and a side of bribery. “We’ll be right downstairs and I’ll even pay.”

   Ikora’s smile tempers into something kind but she shakes her head in mute negative.

   “What? Why?” Cayde practically whines, throwing out his arms to collect answers from the room.

   Zavala has a better understanding of the Hunter by now and, though such questions would have been naïve or annoying not so long ago, the Commander knows the Exo’s disappointment isn’t entirely selfish. But there is still a job to be done. “The mission is not completed so easily, Cayde. We must decide if there’s anything of further value inside the Hellmouth, discuss the viability of holding the area, and oversee the proper return of our Guardians. We don’t have the luxury of celebrating quite like they do.”

   He nods to the feed where the raid team is still toeing over Hive remains and occasionally thumping each other on the back or knocking helms together.

   Ikora’s subtly playful tone cuts through the disappointment hanging heavy in the air. “We _should_ celebrate.”

   The Commander’s gaze snaps from the projection mid-table to pin the Warlock Vanguard with some wide-eyed skepticism. A wealth of potential knowledge hidden in every nook and cranny of the Hellmouth and Ikora, of all people, is offering to let it wait?  Zavala jerks when the worst of the shock paralysis wears off but his disbelief is still strong. “You mean that?”

   As if to say ‘why not?’, Ikora tips her head toward her shoulder. That smile returns, the one that brims with promise of mischief and reminds Zavala of every story he’s ever heard whispered about Ikora’s days pre-Vanguard.

   “There is research to be done but I have Warlocks capable of that. What’s more, Eris has already assured me the Hive won’t return with any strength for some time after such a staggering loss.” Ikora stands absolutely poised with arms clasped innocently behind her back but dark eyes sparkle as if she’s proposing a secret covenant just between the three of them. “A Frame can forward any messages; we will not be desperately missed from the Hall.”

   After a moment of silence comes the awed sigh. “I love you, Ikora.”

   “Careful,” the Warlock Vanguard warns against Cayde’s joking confession, her brows inching skyward and her snark nearly tangible, “you’ll get a lady excited.”

   Cayde throws back his head and laughs.

    “All that remains are the Guardians, then. Would you like to do the honors, Commander?” Ikora nods to the projection where the raid team is taking turns using their Ghosts to snap images as each Guardian hefts the Swordbearer’s blade.

   Further objection will seem petty now that the Awoken is outnumbered.

   “Zavala,” Ikora begins in a tone that says she knows what he’s thinking and will not allow it, “we have been stuck in this room for far too long. We are all taking the night off and resuming normal hours in the morning. Isn’t that correct, Commander?”

   Even without checking the time, the dark sky beyond the Hall’s wide window and the fact that Shaxx has turned in for the night tell Zavala there aren’t many viable work hours left before dawn to begin with. There is also a certain longstanding engagement to honor. His eyes flick to Cayde who seems to be trying to desperately project that exact thought into Zavala’s mind with fractional dips of his head and a slight shoulder hunch that hints at an exasperated shrug dying to be let loose. And Zavala is more than tired of the number of ‘solo missions’ he’s undertaken in the last week to consider actually refusing an opening in dual schedules.

   “Very well. Have at it, Cayde.” Zavala gestures to the hologram projector and nods to the Exo- passing the privilege to the one who’ll appreciate it most and to the one who knows how best to speak the language of exuberant victory.

   Cayde offers a salute of thanks before snapping his fingers to summon his Ghost and then drawing a tight, vertical circle in the air. Marion dips in acknowledgement and heeds the signed command to connect to all channels shared by the raid team.

   “Guardians, this is Cayde-6 in the war room. You kicked ass! Signal strength is great so plant a transmat beacon, grab yourself something shiny, and head back home. Tonight, the six of you are heroes.” Cayde shoots a sly look to the head of the war table before adding, “And Commander Zavala himself intends to reward you by buying the first round of drinks.”

   Blindsided, Zavala sputters before his hands rise helplessly and he looks to Ikora for backup.

   She shakes her head in mock sympathy as she straightens her station in preparation of their departure. “You let him open his mouth.”

   Cayde reverses the vertical hand signal to end audio and flicks off the projector. “Marion, be sure to let the guys and gals of our fireteam know where Commander Zavala will be treating them.”

   “My pleasure,” the Ghost confirms with no shortage of malevolent glee.

   There’s going to be an issue with Cayde’s helper in the future, Zavala knows with certainty.

   “Someone should inform the Speaker,” Zavala sighs, accepting defeat in all other areas and at least committing himself to doing this somewhat formally.

   “I got him,” Cayde calls already heading for the stairs.

   “You?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out sounding quite so doubtful.

   “Yeah,” Cayde shrugs as he backpeddles. “Might take a couple minutes and you can’t be late, you’re buying the first round. Be sure you pay for the good stuff while everyone can still taste it. After that, the cheap stuff’s on me.”

 

_____________

  

   The trip back up the Tower is slow going. Neither Cayde nor Zavala is drunk. Zavala swore off the possibility of intoxication the moment he walked into the bar, partly out of habit but also in preparation for a certain private after-party. Despite the number of little canisters of liquid the Exo kicked back, they don’t seem to have contained anything that might somehow leave an Exo acting inebriated either. So despite the two of them being in full control of all faculties, there’s an awkward tension heating the air between them- literally heating the air between them.  Zavala’s left arm nearly burns with the strength of Cayde’s twisting Light and their forced, casual walk is slower than normal in the way a drunk might overcompensate with careful focus. If one of them were to snap and pin the other to a long stretch of white hall, it’d be with the same sudden gracelessness of a stumbling barfly.

   Zavala clears his throat for what is easily the fifth time since they hit an elevator even though he has no intent to speak. It must trigger something in Cayde though because the Exo opens his mouth and very nearly startles the Awoken.

   “You think Ikora’s gonna be mad we left her?”

   “No,” Zavala answers immediately though the longer he lets the thought bounce around, the more he doubts. “She was enjoying herself.”

   Which is very true. Vanguard, raid team, and already entrenched bar patrons had formed together and splintered off in many combinations throughout the evening and, last they’d seen, Ikora was still in deep conversation with a Warlock in the corner. Whether it was Ikora gathering information from the most reliable source or genuinely socializing was up for debate but Zavala had heard her laugh more than once across the small space.

   On the other hand, the Titan and Hunter Vanguards had left rather abruptly after Cayde managed to sidle up to Zavala and quietly suggest they ‘make it a short victory party.’

   “She can take care of herself,” the Commander nods in an attempt to soothe his guilt.

   “I’m a lot less concerned about what anyone could possibly do to her than what she could do to us when she finds out we ditched,” Cayde’s admission is not entirely sarcastic.

   When they turn the corner, Cayde and Zavala catch the eye of a groggy-looking Hunter as he yawns and struggles to remove the crisscross of gun and ammo belts around his hips while continuing to shuffle, no doubt toward a bed. Cade’s Light retreats so quickly that the loss of heat almost unbalances Zavala and causes him to shiver. Apparently, Cayde can control that at will and he’s torturing Zavala on purpose! Both parties pass in the hall with minimal acknowledgement but the Awoken hears the moment combat boots stop behind them, senses the Hunter’s curious scrutiny. There’s no way that Guardian didn’t catch at least the faintest edge of Cayde’s Light. Cayde comes to the same conclusion.

   “Not a word of whatever you’re thinking, Hunter,” Cayde warns without so much as turning back.

   “No, Sir.” That might be fear of a Vanguard or Cayde in particular hushing an otherwise respectful response.

   Once they’re out of range, the Light springs back up and Zavala jerks away from the sudden temperature change.

   “Seriously? A bit obvious isn’t it?” The Titan demands accompanied by a sidelong glare.

   Cayde immediately brings the output down to half with an almost sheepish readjustment of his hood and still Zavala wonders if the Guardians sealed behind closed doors on this floor feel the Hunter Vanguard as he passes. For that matter, how efficient are walls in stopping the path of Light between abutting rooms? Exactly how unintentionally public is sex with an Exo? Zavala has every intention of discussing the finer mechanics the moment they make it to a room. Luckily, he knows that Cayde’s is close and resigns himself to silently focusing on keeping his face smooth and his arms at this side for what is the longest march of his long, long life.

   One final turn brings them to Cayde’s hall at the same moment Zavala is certain his entire left side will go numb or spontaneously combust and there, standing at Cayde’s door, is a familiar Tower resident. Blue and gray plating with a yellow stripe down the center of the hanging head, those spikes…it’s most definitely Banshee-44 waiting at the Hunter Vanguard’s door but Zavala has never seen the Tower’s gunsmith quite so…subdued. Quiet, yes, but there's something fragile about the Exo that doesn't sit well with Zavala. Cayde halts Zavala with a hand on the Titan’s arm even though they've both come to a slow stop and the Hunter Vanguard's Light snaps back even quicker than before. Banshee grunts low across the way, seeming to notice the change in the air but unable to take his eyes off the door in front of him. The Exo’s yellow hands flex slowly open and closed, open and closed- as if trying to grasp something- some kind of tic.

   Zavala instinctively breaths in deeply when a soft warmth washes over him, the seductively consuming kind of warmth that makes a man reluctant to leave his bed in the morning, and his once eager pulse slows to match a soothing force that he eventually recognizes as Cayde’s Light making an appearance in a form Zavala’s not experienced until now.

   Yellow hands gradually still across the way. Finally, glowing eyes flick up just long enough to identify the two Vanguards before finding the floor. Remorse follows on the tail of comprehension.

   “Sorry,” comes the whispered version of chronically rough gravel, “I’ve come at a bad time.”

   That's not just some blanket statement. The shift of Banshee's face, an entirely different kind of discomfort than before, as good as proves he knows exactly what he's holding up. Of course another Exo could read the intent in Cayde's light better than some half-asleep human Hunter. The realization collapses the space in Zavala's chest.

   "It's ok," Cayde whispers just for Zavala's ears, "he's not gonna blab."

   The urge to demand some kind of proof is hot on the tip of Zavala's tongue but the gunsmith shifts as if to slink away and Cayde snaps his fingers twice, molded leather giving just enough sound to carry four doors down to Banshee.

   “Uh uh! Don’t you dare leave,” Cayde orders the other Exo, soft but unarguably stern, and doesn’t move himself until he gets a halting nod of compliance. The Hunter practically sags with the weight of apology by the time he turns back to Zavala but there’s not an ounce of uncertainty in his voice. “Zavala, I have to take care of this.”

   “Is something wrong?”…is the Titan's most tactful way of saying ‘something is obviously wrong.’

   “No,” Cayde blatantly lies and then tries to smooth it into something a little more realistic. “It’s Exo stuff. Don’t worry about it. But...ya gotta understand that this takes priority.”

   Zavala would be horribly disappointed if not for the pitiful curl of Banshee’s frame and the second-hand effects of soothing Light he now knows is meant chiefly for the Exo down the hall. Still, parting with Cayde now feels unfair to the both of them. “Can I be of help?”

   “Honestly?” Fine plates narrow in a wince and Cayde shakes his head. “I have to handle this solo.”

   Even though it makes him feel like some callous beast, Zavala dares ask. “How long?”

   Cayde looks to Banshee as if he can measure by the state of the Exo but eventually shrugs, unsure himself. “I’ll come to you.”

   “Then I’ll wait up,” the Awoken promises with a bit of selfish hope. “Contact me if you need anything at all?”

   The slow pat to his armored bicep says it clear as day. Whatever this emergency entails, Cayde will not be asking for backup. The Hunter and gunsmith seal themselves away behind Cayde's door and the Commander briefly contemplates returning to Ikora and the victory party downstairs. But without knowing just how much of another Guardian's Light may still cling to him, exile to his own room seems the safest of choices. All Zavala can do is continue to wait. And maybe take one more shower.


	12. D1: Dark Below .9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Patch Notes  
> This chapter has been edited due to massive environmental errors that caused a buggy experience for some readers.

   It’s one of those days when Zavala can feel anger riding in his fingertips and he knows he is unjustly judgmental of the world. Athena’s wakeup call was too cheerful, the sun was too bright during his morning walk, and every Guardian’s greeting was too congenial. All because Cayde never showed.

   Not exactly a slight they could discuss over morning mission reports with Ikora either. Still, Zavala and Cayde had managed to acknowledge last night’s disappointment during long silences using nothing more than breaths that were a little too short and gestures that were a bit too sharp to wholly pass as normal. Ikora, miraculously or graciously, made no mention of her abandonment the previous evening but had cast suspicious gazes over her fellow Vanguards between bits of idle morning conversation. The fact that she never demanded to know what had the two wound so tightly clouded the air as much as any question or accusation she could have posed. The tension remained so stifling through the first hours of their day that Zavala had jumped to answer emergency calls from the Tower hanger about a sudden incident.

   Now, Zavala stands before Amanda Holliday trying to figure out how a Guardian managed to smuggle a functioning Shank into the Tower as the most asinine trophy Zavala’s ever seen in all his years as a Vanguard. The Shipwright’s landing bears mementos of the struggle- furrows from Arc blasts melted into the floors, three gaping holes in the safety fence, one incredibly pale-faced mechanic taking deep breaths in a nearby corner. Most telling is the still barely sparking frame of the Shank itself, components scattered across the floor from its crash. The cause of the crash, as told by Amanda and easily verified, is the glowing spilt nearly down the center of the frame.  And Zavala doesn’t even think to challenge Holliday’s assertion that the weapon to end the Shank’s incredibly brief reign of terror is the very welder still clutched in her hand.

   “I was under the impression we scan every ship as it enters our air space,” Zavala rumbles, dangerously close to crushing something with his bare hands. He kneels to flip the Shank and verify functions have ceased completely.

   “’Course we do,” Holliday frowns, skirting that line between annoyed and insulted, and almost reluctantly sets her welder aside. “Problem is Guardians are wearing all kinds of bits ‘n pieces of armor made out of enemy tech. Apparently, that old scanner can’t tell a fancy boot from a barely livin’ Shank.”

   “What are we going to do about it?” Zavala demands as he rises and casts about for something to wipe the Shank’s oil from his fingers.

   Holliday falls right past annoyed into irate territory and blond brows hike up as her face takes on the same sarcastic pleasantness as her voice. “Why, I suppose I will make a better scanner! Just soon as you give me the resources to do it, of course.”

   Belatedly, Zavala wishes he’d allowed Cayde to walk into this slowly springing trap. “Miss Holliday, if you would please keep to-“

   “What is it I say every time I report to you?” Amanda snaps without even false pleasantry to soften her words. “ _Materials_. If things are gonna get done ‘round here, I need more materials. Guardians ain’t patrollin’ like they used to.”

   Zavala vaguely recalls seeing this in writing and he tries for a diplomatic apology that validates Amanda’s concerns but doesn’t necessarily come out and say he’s forgotten all of the Shipwright’s requests to increase collection missions. “With the Crota campaign, the last few weeks have been taxing on us all.”

   “You and I been doin’ this dance long before that undead _thing_ showed up,” Amanda tosses an accusing glare over her shoulder as she motions for one of her human crewmembers to help right the digital display board that lies on the ground after apparently taking a Shank turret to the rear. When they haul it upright, the screen is cracked and blackened in roughly circular patches and Holliday sighs heavily before apparently deeming it a lost cause and unceremoniously dumping the device back to the floor with a sickening crunch.

   “I’ll find you a new display,” Zavala offers in an attempt at peace. He cannot afford to make his life any more strenuous at the moment and carrying the weight of Amanda Holliday’s displeasure would absolutely qualify as strenuous.

   The shipwright grunts in acceptance. She then pointedly gestures to the gaping holes in the chain link behind her.

   “And a new safety fence,” the Commander confirms.

   Amanda nods but then cants her head slowly to a smoldering surface that used to be a workbench and Zavala's teeth scrape slowly against each other.

   “Perhaps you could write me a list,” he suggests through tight lips.

   “I’ll have that within the hour so you can have my replacements by this afternoon.” Amanda’s triumph is not quite as obnoxious as Cayde’s but it’s clear the two have spent a lot of time together.

   Zavala heroically keeps a straight face. The Tower runs on a budget- one that Zavala would, admittedly, give most anything not to be a part of- but the Commander is sworn to protect even that. Though he’ll certainly be reimbursing the Tower with funds from the Guardian responsible for this fool feat once they’re identified. “Let us be clear. These are replacement items, not upgrades. I know our old receipts exist somewhere digitally. It could take weeks to find them for reference…in case I question one of the items on this list you’ll be creating.”

   Understanding flows silently between them and the human shrugs. “Guess I’d better write carefully. And, in light of my careful consideration, I’m thinking a ten percent increase in collection missions across all planets. And the moon.”

   “Done,” Zavala agrees before Holliday has time to consider pushing toward the fifteen percent Zavala has already set as his bargaining limit.

   A hand settles low against the Titan’s back and he jolts, brain and body torn between rationally knowing no one in the Tower means him physical harm and instinctively throwing back an elbow in defense. But, as the surprise passes, he undoubtedly knows who has the audacity to touch him so casually. He can visualize the unrepentant look on metal plates even before he’s turned the force of his glare to the Hunter now standing shoulder to shoulder with him. The hand withdraws just as quickly as it appeared but not before leaving a little flicker of the Hunter’s Light in a caress that makes Zavala reconsider throwing that elbow.

   “Hey, Amanda,” Cayde tosses out in casual greeting but then the Exo makes a show of taking in every bit of scorched equipment littering the landing, focusing particularly hard on a scuffed and twisted sparrow that had flipped and lodged itself vertically between a stack of supply crates and a workbench. “Did you…party without me?”

   Amanda’s entire head rolls with her eyes and, though Zavala picks up on no small amount of affection in it, the exasperated breath she exhales seems to come all the way from her toes. “What da ya want, Cayde?”

   “Just need to steal the Commander for a minute.”

   “All yours,” she mutters as she swipes the pad of her thumb disdainfully at a streak of black that mars her work table.

   But Zavala is not ready to leave, especially if it means doing so with the Hunter Vanguard. He ignores the way Cayde steps back and gestures for the two of them to be off. “I’ll see what I can do about reallocating resources until we see a return on increased patrols but I want the name of the Guardian responsible for this mess the moment you discover it. So that I might deal with them.”

   “You mean if there’s anything left of their hide after I’m finished?" Amanda chuckles darkly. "And I will find out who did it. Hanger's temporally shut down until we finish the sweep and I got most of the crew tracking the path of destruction downstairs. With a Guardian escort of course. Just in case there’s any more…livin’ contraband.”

   “Ok, so wrath…vengeance…physical discipline.” Cayde interjects with approving nods of his head and wraps a hand over the Titan’s least armored piece of shoulder.  “I think Amanda’s got this covered, Zavala. Now, come on. Got something else that needs your attention.”

   “Fine. What is it?” His lips are already curled in disdainful preparation for the next disaster.

   “Oh no,” Cayde wags his head mournfully and uses the hand on Zavala’s shoulder to gently begin steering the Titan away from the Shipwright’s landing, “this is a mess you have to see in person.”

   “Traveler, gift me strength,” Zavala mutters at the first pulse of a familiar ache in his skull.

   Cayde marches them down the stairs and a lilting voice follows.

   “Good luck.”

   Cayde’s hand remains but his upper body twists abruptly from Zavala, cloaked back hiding some sort of gesture that causes Holliday to emit a choking snort. The Commander stills completely, trying to piece those reactions together. Something feels off. Cayde’s arm jerks when the Hunter continues walking but his hand fails to follow.

   “This is kinda time sensitive,” Cayde quips dryly as he shoos Zavala to the right, in the general direction of the Hunter lounge. “Could you move with a little more urgency?”

  Zavala breaks contact- grips the Exo’s forearm and pulls until Cayde is forced to release the hold on a red shoulder or turn this into something drawn out and argumentative-  as they round the second set of stairs and near Dead Orbit’s dark corner. The Titan still hasn’t quite gotten over the night before and is in no mood for physical contact. Cayde could have at least sent a message instead of letting Zavala wait up until he'd fallen asleep at his desk. Cayde shrugs at the disconnect and continues their journey through the hanger mostly unfazed, only taking a half step in front of Zavala so he can lead the way. The Commander marches stone-faced past Arach Jalal and is at least thankful Dead Orbit is not the source of the latest fiasco. Though that doesn't leave much more than the lounge in this direction and Zavala isn't particularly fond of his most recent memory there. They take the tunnel down, pass an empty station for Frame repairs, and continue to hug the left wall. They’re running out of room when suspicion finally gets the better of Zavala. “Where are we going, Cayde?”

   “That’s classified.”

   “Where would you have access that I do not?”

   They come to a stop in a dim corner of the hanger that's coated in just enough dust to tell exactly how unused the space is. The low Light of the Tower's lounge just to the right spills down the ramp but doesn't touch the pocket of shade created by the permanently parked ship that serves as the Hunter hangout. Cayde checks the recreational area- empty at this early hour- and glances back the way they've come before leaning over a safety rail to assess that dark pocket of space between lounge and hanger wall that Zavala is eyeing skeptically. With a flap of his cloak, the Exo slips through the bars meant to separate the more frequented sections of the hanger from the area designated for ships and mechanics only.

   “What the devil are you doing?” Zavala hisses. This is by no stretch of the imagination a proper way to gain access to the hangers and repair bays nor should they have any reason to gain said access.

   “…Ok,” Cayde shrugs for apparent lack of another, more convincing falsehood and settles his forearms against the dividing metal. “I’m fresh out of cute bits. So just humor me?”

   The Awoken scowls at the shadowed Hunter. “I’m too busy for games.”

   Not to mention emotionally exhausted and mentally scattered.

   “Fun was the whole point. Remember? Just hop on over,” Cayde suggests, voice barely above a whisper.

   The ceiling is just as disinteresting as one might imagine when Zavala throws his head back as if it will keep him from choking on the disbelieving scoff that erupts from his throat.

   “There is no second crisis,” Zavala surmises aloud.

    “Well, not the kind that would make it into an official report," Cayde admits dryly. "That would be against rule number two. But I am definitely the something in need of your attention.”

   All the verbal nudges, the flimsy lies, and the familiar doggedness coalesce into an unspoken suggestion. The Hunter apparently thinks they can simply continue from last night here and now.

   “Gods, Cayde!" Zavala shakes his head completely appalled. "We’re on duty.”

   The Hunter turns his back on Zavala and laughs. “Yeah, but that didn't stop you the other day in the Hall when I was on duty."

   Zavala flushes at the reminder of his worst lapse of composure to date.

   "Besides, the world’s not exactly falling out from under us at the moment. If not now, when? During the next crisis? Or maybe the one after that?”

   Heeled boots take three quick strides where they then turn and continue to take slow steps backward carrying the Hunter further into restricted space. Cayde’s posture continues the coaxing from there, head and torso leaning in as if Zavala holds some gravitational pull, even as historically insubordinate hands tuck almost innocently into the Hunter’s lowest belt. Zavala’s gaze travels away from the Hunter, just to the empty lounge the most transient of Guardian’s have dubbed their own and where the Titan first felt the unexpected fire of the Exo’s Light. This recklessness…it’s as upsetting as it is alluring. After all, Cayde has proven to care about their duty to the City and the Guardians so the fact the Hunter Vanguard has arranged for this meeting in broad daylight points less toward outright negligence and more toward a personal desperation. Perhaps the Commander underestimated how mutual their deal really is. Zavala finds himself inclined to forgive and forget setbacks of the night before. Though this arena is still a bit too public for the Titan's comfort.

    "Maybe if we allow our mid-day breaks to overlap, we can meet at my room-"

    "Why wait? Hanger's closed. Most of the staff's downstairs."

    Zavala mutters, struck suddenly by a horrid thought, "Did you unleash that thing?"

   Cayde takes a second to process and laughs. "The shank? No but do I appreciate an opportunity when it falls into my lap."

   A flare of Light licks Zavala purposefully head to toe in a rolling wave and Zavala blanches. Any benevolent inclination is gone instantly, accomodation swept clear by indignation stemming from their terribly public surroundings- Lakshimi is practically on top of them!- and from the Hunter’s contempt for rules that they damn well agreed to!

   “Stop that! Someone will notice,” Zavala barks, sturdy material of his gloves creaking with the force of his grip on that rail that seperates the two Vanguards.

   Cayde’s chin dips toward his chest and his shoulders square in challenge. The Light hits just right the second time to temporarily weaken Zavala’s knees. The Awoken growls in the back of his throat, furious beyond words that Cayde would willingly put them at risk of stupidly easy discovery.

   The words that finally make it past his teeth are weighed down by the promise of something dark if Cayde chooses to continue. “I'm ordering you to stop. Immediately.”

    "Come make me.”

   A fresh wave of Light hits Zavala like the breeze from an open door at the height of summer and he vaults over the safety rail, teeth barred. The space between Hunter lounge and eastern wall is a bit more generous than Zavala would have guessed and, in just three strides, the space he left behind is barely visible around the curve of the docked ship. The Exo stands his ground in the darkened space until the second he falls within Zavala’s reach and then he twists to the side, away from the ship. But Zavala has already seen this. It was months ago in the open air of the Traveler’s Walk, a prohibited sniper rifle in gloved hands. Zavala was not a champion of the Crucible by might or luck alone and he was never bested by the same gambit twice. He reads the direction of the Exo’s escape, ignores the obvious opportunity of the cape that is sure to detach under enough strain, and latches on to the Hunter’s belt instead- hand slipping  in just behind the sheathed knife where multiple belts and straps meet…the surest spot to control the Hunter’s entire body. Zavala allows himself to go limp everywhere but that single grip. The force of Cayde’s momentum throws the Titan roughly to the ground but his lock on those belts drags the Hunter down with him in a dizzying rotation. The moment his armored shoulder hits the floor, not quite knocking the air from him but hurting like hell and definitely producing a noticeable thud, Zavala rocks his shoulders and bucks his hips to continue their movement in a well-practiced takedown. Smooth as a ship would dock in the Tower’s hanger, the two Vanguards come to a rolling stop with the Commander triumphant atop Cayde.

   Zavala pushes off the ground to survey his captive. The Hunter’s cloak, wrapped round the both of them by this point, keeps the Titan from rising by more than his elbows without fear of accidentally strangling either of them. Framed by Zavala’s arms, the Hunter’s limbs are still drawn close in instinctive protection for any severe fall. Glowing eyes are blown wide and internal lights highlight the space of a gaping mouth in the dumbest look an Exo face can possibly make. The embers of his anger are the only thing keeping an equally dumb grin of victory from the Awoken’s face.

   “How _was_ this ridiculous plan of yours supposed to go anyway?” Zavala demands for clarity's sake.

   The body under him ignites in response. The force of the Light strikes almost as painful as Zavala remembers a direct hit from a Golden Gun and he grips the only thing available to ground himself as his own Light floods in to soothe the damage.

   “That is not funny!” Zavala rasps and then snarls into the side of the Hunter’s head, his arms beneath a smoldering back crushing them together. A darting glance westward reveals nothing but the dusty side thrusters of an old ship. Even Future War Cult's skybox has no line of sight on this little alcove. Just because they cannot be seen does not mean they cannot be caught however. “Damn you! I told you to stop. You’re going to broadcast to the whole hanger.”

   The Light that assaults him next is so much weaker, errant little sparks that sting Zavala beneath his armor but pose much less of a threat. Cayde is quaking. His head tosses side to side and the horn-like protrusion digs into the side of Zavala’s skull.

   “Not…entirely intentional,” comes the strained reply peppered with a pop reminiscent of a gasp. The Hunter shoves against Zavala's chest. “You’re not helping!”

   The Exo’s Light fluctuates between burning wall and fleeting pinpricks and it strikes Zavala that Cayde is trying and failing miserably to control it. Zavala rears back in surprise only to be stopped by worn fabric of a cloak that must be snagged on a piece of his armor. Agitation stirs Zavala’s Light and Cayde’s hands clamp down on the waist of black underarmor.

   “That!” Cayde snaps. “Every time you lose control of yours it…Shit, I mean this was kinda what I was going for but....We have to do this. Right here, right now. Please, Zavala.”

   “Absolutely not!” Zavala swears even as his heart falters in its rhythm. He jerks at the cloth that holds him like an extension of the Hunter beneath. He has to manhandle Cayde just a little bit, hoist him up by the shoulder to get enough slack in the cape that Zavala can work it out of the seam between two armored plates. But the closer they are, the more noticeable the pull of Cayde’s Light at Zavala’s and the tug of war sets the air buzzing all around them. “Tone that down, damnit!”

   “I can’t,” the Exo groans through static that makes him sound lightyears away and not inches from Zavala’s face, “and I can’t wait.”

   Hands fist in the tangle of sash and mark and drag the Titan down those last critical inches until two pairs of hips meet and Cayde is the one to start the slow grind that makes Zavala’s vision fade for a second. This is not at all where or how he would have imagined this to happen.

   “I’m dying here.” The Hunter protests Zavala’s lack of motion as metal hands spread a familiar warm power beneath heavy armor. “So close. Just need more Light, Zavala.”

   Cayde’s voice is wrecked by pops of static and a soul-deep kind of desperation that make the words barely intelligible. Even if Zavala did hear correctly, Cayde’s hands have shifted and all thought follows their path. One has found Zavala’s collar and used it to pull them chest to chest, as flush as the armor will ever allow, before the fingers sneak all along the edges and dart into gaps between plating and quickly responding flesh. The other hand curls just barely over the side of Zavala’s waist, the attached arm braced across the Commander's lower back enforcing the proximity of their lower halves. Even if he understood Cayde’s plea, Zavala’s mind is too distracted by the friction of Cayde’s body dragging against his. It’s a sensation he’s only had a taste of and even now it’s not enough, will never be enough through the protective layers of his suit no matter how hard the Commander finds himself finally reciprocating as he drives Cayde into the floor with grinding thrusts so powerful there will be bruises later.

   "Yes?" Cayde grits out, voice hitching on a hard thrust. "This is a 'yes'?"

   At least Cayde is trying to actively honor the rule of consent even though they've skirted around the back of formal permission to get this far.

   "Yes," Zavala confirms in a surrendering breath. Short and sweet withought the brain power to elaborate.

   The rumble coming from Cayde is about half curse and half approving pur as the Hunter's knees squeeze Zavala's hips in encouragement. Cayde's hands find Zavala's and drag them demonstratively down the vertical seams of Cayde's leather armor. The Hunter's Light sparks a reminder of his earlier desperate confession. Though, with his body chasing physical sensation, Zavala can’t even remember where to find his own Light in order to offer it in turn.

   The Hunter apparently knows where to search because, even as Zavala is trying to spare a piece of himself to process and comply, Cayde's familiar power slips in like a sharp knife and Zavala's Light twists to life somewhere between the Titan’s chest and his gut before worming its way outward to Cayde. The renewed presence brings a wave of relief. That Light is Zavala at his core, an inseparable facet of the resurrected man as much as his thoughts and beliefs are a part of him and it follows the heat of Cayde’s counterpart eagerly. With the feel of it now fresh in his mind, Zavala can harness his Light by himself and directs it to his hands even if the concentration means his hips must slow to a stuttering crawl. Something about this exchange of essences feels pure in a way nothing else ever has and he wants to flood Cayde with Light, to let him feel it rip through him and create that same momentary vacuum that will make the Hunter’s own Light feel that much closer and sharper when it finds its way back.

   Light-infused hands dig a path over the Exo’s torso, over the swells of ribs and pecs, and allow Zavala the physical satisfaction of touching anything so intimately while simultaneously granting Cayde the bittersweet burn that has the metal frame bowing off the ground. Zavala drags the Light down and a whine scrapes past open, metal lips. On a hazy whim, the Awoken follows the sound with the fingers of one hand. He strokes up the column of Cayde’s throat, over surprisingly thin layers of overlapping metal that allow him to feel cable movement beneath, before drifting to the base of the Exo’s jaw and returning to Cayde’s collar to begin anew. There’s a sound, something sweet and almost broken, that vibrates the surface beneath Zavala’s palm. Arms wrap around the Awoken, crushing in their strength, and Zavala's heart flips. This is it, that edge he's been waiting to see Cayde tumble off of.

   "Do it," he finds himself goading in a growling whisper against Cayde's jaw as he adds more Light to the hands trapped between them, pouring himself into the Exo.

  Light again sears painfully through him as Cayde's sharp face digs into the Awoken's neck but this time the stabbing flame is follwed by a soothing rush of healing Light comprised of such an even mix that it's impossible to tell where Zavala's Light ends and Cayde's begins. The Hunter bucks and holds himself suspended by his knees clasped around the back of Zavala’s thighs and Zavala, swept in the alternating tide of pain and pleasure, hits a limit as well. Distantly mindful of their potential for discovery, the Awoken buries his face into the scarf bunched around the base of Cayde’s throat and gasps his own release. It’s hot and slick in the confines of his suit and still Zavala has never felt so at ease as the physical sensation fades and only Light remains.

   Even the Light between them eventually cools, settling back into the bodies of origin or dissipating, and Cayde’s grip on Zavala slackens until the Hunter rests in a limp sprawl with his cape twisted in a mess and hood pooled behind his head. Zavala almost swears he can hear the Exo’s inner mechanisms clicking and whirring away between thrums of his own heartbeat.

   Zavala waits for regret to strike in the quiet aftermath. But his mind is clear, untouched by the sickening storm of guilt. When it does not come, Zavala exhales and allows himself to sag atop his partner completely confident that if Cayde can’t take the weight of Zavala plus armor, the Hunter will be sure to vocalize it. And even then Zavala might remain out of spite.

   “There,” Cayde croaks in an exhausted approximation of a laugh and pats a heavy hand against an armored back. “Now don’t you feel better?”


	13. D1: Dark Below 1.0

      Like a bolt of lightning, a flash of blue illuminates the underside of the table for a fraction of a second before Zavala mashes the power button to cancel the blinking notification.  The process has become so repetitive in the last five minutes it’s quickly approaching the point of ‘absolutely ridiculous.’ Reflective eyes flick from the handheld clasped surreptitiously near his thigh to gauge who might have noticed the interruptions. Most of the Consensus attendees are still focused on the Speaker as he gives a summary of the events leading up to the defeat of Crota- praising the collective effort of the citizenry, foundries, and Guardians. Only a single pair of hazel eyes zero in on the device clenched in tense fingers. The Warlock Vanguard keeps a straight face but the rise and tilt of her chin are as good as a knowing smirk. Zavala wills himself not to lock eyes with Ikora, seated directly to his left, as another pulse casts a blue glow over his lap. He nearly crushes the device in his haste to dim it. Weighing his decision against the likelihood of an actual emergency and the need to maintain his sanity, Zavala thumbs in his personal code to begin powering down the communicator completely. He’s just barely had time to feel the weight of Ikora’s awareness and the creeping dread that follows when someone calls his name. The unexpectedness of it causes the Commander to jerk. His thumb misses the power button by just a fraction and the misguided force breaks the relatively fragile display into a jagged web with a very audible _crack_.

   He can almost feel Ikora’s brow rising beside him. Someone in the great, round room coughs. After three seconds pass at the speed of an eternity, the Speaker calls on Zavala again. Apparently, it is now time to give the Vanguard account of the war thus far. Shuffling the dead device into his stack of various datapads atop the table- where he’ll be able to see if Ikora makes any attempt to examine it- Zavala rises and affects a sense of steady control that he does not feel.

_____________

 

   They make it a whole three blocks from the Consensus Hall in their shared cab before Ikora decides to strike.

   “That was an excellent presentation you gave,” Ikora notes as she gently stretches her neck to ease the strain of sitting attentive for so many hours. “You almost had Dead Orbit convinced Earth is the safest place to be right now.”

   “Thank you,” Zavala replies instantly. He hopes acknowledging the compliment will make it just that- simply a compliment and not the opening salvo he’s most certain it is.

   “Shame about your handheld. I have a backup with the proper encryption capabilities if you’d like to borrow it while you wait for a replacement.” The Warlock does not even wait for Zavala’s confirmation before summoning her Ghost. A quick order later, the device materializes in her hand and she offers it to Zavala.

   “Ah…yes. Thank you.” Zavala reaches across the seat to grasp the communicator but Ikora does not immediately release it which results in the tiniest tug of war between the two Vanguards.

   Zavala makes the mistake of meeting Ikora’s eyes to question the hold up.

   “Cayde was quite chatty today.”

   The Warlock’s smirk manifests at last. Just once Zavala would like to feel less transparent than the average pane of glass. Ikora finally allows him to receive the device- having acquired whatever microscopic tell she needed to form her conclusion, or more likely used to triple confirm her suspicions- and the Commander sighs his admission of defeat

   “When is he not?” Zavala counters even though he knows he’s lost any sway he might have held over where the conversation goes on their way back home. He begins the tedious process of synching the borrowed device to all his accounts, stalling over several of the passwords in what is equally a test of his memory and a testament to his desire not to make any more eye contact than necessary.

   “I take it he had nothing dire to discuss.”

   That…the Titan recognizes as fishing.

   “I’m certain.”

   “Though I couldn’t help but notice you didn’t actually read any of his messages.”

   All-seeing orbs have Zavala pinned in the small space of their speeding transport but the Commander pretends to have trouble logging into his Guardian roster.

   “I’m worried, Zavala.”

   “Worried?” Zavala parrots in disbelief and accidentally looks up. Ikora Rey is many things; quick-witted, sharp-tongued, intuitive, fearsome. ‘Worried’ has never been very high on the list of words associated with the woman.

   “About whatever is going on between you and Cayde,” she clarifies.

   As reluctant as he is to discuss it again, this isn't the first time Ikora has highlighted her objections. “Your concerns have already been noted. He and I have discussed the importance of discretion.”

   Whether or not they have been productive discussions…

   “That isn’t what I mean.”

   This time Zavala cannot help but look because _that_ is apparently what Ikora Rey sounds like when she is genuinely worried.

    “I’m worried about _you_.”

    “I’m…fine,” Zavala manages to force out when the confused twist of his mouth makes the words falter.

    “And I’m worried about him.”

    “Cayde is-“

   “Zavala, if you say ‘Cayde is fine,’ I _will_ kick you out that door.” Ikora nods pointedly to the window beyond Zavala’s shoulder where the cityscape whizzes by. “Yesterday, you left to deal with the commotion in the hanger and came back wearing a different suit.”

   The level of intended accusation versus Zavala’s perceived accusation is debatable but he knows exactly what Ikora is getting at with the seeming non sequitur. He most certainly did swap out his combat suit for an older version stashed in his foot locker when he couldn’t quite bring himself to ask for Athena’s assistance beyond transmatting the Commander from an isolated corner of the hanger back to his own room after... Zavala decides to downplay the wardrobe change.

   “Oil. From the shank.”

   “Don’t,” Ikora insists with a particularly insulted scrunch of her forehead. “You _know_ that I know. Cayde took a very long walk twenty minutes after you’d departed and came back practically glowing.”

   Of course. Even feigning ignorance would be a disgrace to Ikora.

   “It’s not what you’re doing in secret that concerns me. In all honesty, I’m a bit relieved the two of you have decided to do something with yourselves that doesn’t include haunting the Tower corridors with your foul mood or rearranging the archives to spell out an SOS.”

   It’s only slightly encouraging approval but Zavala will take it.

   “I am, however, concerned about the two of you and about what happens when this…recreational experiment ends. After all, once could be seen as scratching an itch but three instances of intimate encounters point to something a bit more.”

   One of the advantages to being an Awoken is the way blue masks a disgraced blush more effectively than fairer skin tones. Not that Ikora is likely to miss it. Three times Ikora has been informed of, witnessed, or deduced strictly unprofessional conduct between Cayde and Zavala. It is an incriminating tally. Especially when Zavala places those three events on a relatively short timeline. Though the insinuation that those events are anything beyond physical is way off the mark. Zavala respects Ikora as a Vanguard as much as he respects her as a sensible, perceptive woman but, on this count, he must disagree. “Allow me to soothe your concerns once and for all. Cayde and I have agreed to…an arrangement of convenience. When that agreement no longer serves its purpose, it will end. Quietly. With no hard feelings. Only a select few of us will ever be any the wiser.”

   “I sincerely hope so,” Ikora murmurs with her brow drawn in lingering doubt. “We’ve known each other for a very long time, Zavala, but I have never known you to be a man of romantic relationships.”

   “Then it is fortunate I do not intend to start one!” Add ‘snapping at Ikora’ to the list of things not intended. He regrets it instantly but Ikora makes no remark- just a slow, deferent tilt of her head before turning back to her window.

   "I'm sorry," he mumbles, hesitant to leave things as they are. Ikora is still a very dear friend.

   "Apology accepted." Though the greater relief is that Ikora doesn't sound as if she even required one.

   Watching, waiting, Zavala holds for a moment. His fingers twitch over the device. Once he thinks they’ve safely dropped the subject entirely, he returns to his digital task.

   Then, Ikora hums.

   “Why _didn’t_ you read his messages?”

   Zavala simply pretends the Warlock Vanguard had never spoken until she hums again- a dismissive descent of a noise that means she’s letting it rest for now- and the ride home lapses into silence.

 

_____________

 

   After a brusque parting of ways with Ikora at the base of the Tower, Zavala completes his regularly scheduled visit to the Wall, followed by an unscheduled morale-boosting visit to some of the Guardians stationed there and still manages to swing by the Non-Guardian Reserve Guard compound at the Wall’s base in time to observe final drills before sunset. His borrowed communicator flashes with several new notices throughout the evening until Zavala finally unclips the thing from his belt and orders Athena to send it to his room. Despite all his objections, despite all his reassurances, the memory of Ikora’s doubtful gaze still troubles him. When he finally runs out of official and even semi-official tasks to eat up his time, he reluctantly heads for home.

_____________

   The Tower’s lower halls are buzzing with the bright voices of Guardians making their way to the streets of the City for an evening clear of duties- pushing and pulling each other like excitable children. The Tower never completely shuts down between the military proceedings it facilitates and the floors and floors of Guardian barracks that see traffic at all hours but there is a certain necessity to established ‘business hours’ which have recently ended for the day. Especially now, in the aftermath of Crota’s defeat, warriors of Light lucky enough to be back on the planet are taking eager advantage of the lack of impending crises and the flow of armored bodies is much greater than Zavala has seen for some time. Greetings come from all sides and Zavala returns them gladly as he winds through the white stone and amber-tinted glass of the Tower’s lobby. He does shout for a trio of Bladedancers to slow down as their blinking race cuts through one of the memorial fountains and splashes water onto the floor. The Hunters are long gone in seconds and all Zavala can really do is level his brows in warning at the rest of the Guardians still hanging about while a fretting frame scurries over with a mop in hand. His brow has lost most of its furrow by the time he reaches the bank of steel-doored elevators in the center of the lobby.

   It is a double-edged stroke of luck that delivers an empty elevator to Zavala without much of a wait at all but also provides him with no further distraction as he is the only one going up. The dual doors close and even as Zavala presses the button that corresponds to the level housing his quarters, he can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. He reaches out again, his finger hovering above a different level, but chagrin gets the better of him and he withdraws. A flutter of Light tickles the back of Zavala’s neck and he catches the trail of blue from the corner of his eye as his Ghost materializes in the otherwise lonely space.

   “Would you like that communicator back now? To review a few messages?”

   “No,” Zavala grumbles as he gently brushes Athena away, “Stop poking at my thoughts. I can feel you.”

   The Awoken taps his temple to illustrate the stirring he feels each time Athena pushes at their neural bond for details he has not expressly shared.

   “But it’s been hours.” Athena rotates slowly in thought and adds, “I’m sure this whole thing isn’t as bad as you think.”

  The lift makes an unexpected stop several stories shy of Zavala’s goal and Athena makes a quick getaway- putting their private conversation on hold. Zavala steps back to accommodate the newcomers who will be boarding.  The doors open to reveal a Warlock and a Hunter who buzz with the same excited energy of those Zavala had passed in the lobby- just two more Guardians looking forward to an excursion. Zavala offers a nod of greeting which the Warlock reciprocates as he takes a step forward but the Hunter’s arm lashes out with characteristic speed and smacks a halting palm to the Warlock’s chest. A pained huff escapes the Warlock and his golden eyes glare at his female companion. Oblivious to the rotten look, the Hunter half bows to Zavala and offers a winning smile.

   “Commander Zavala! Sorry to hold you up.” The Hunter dips again in respect even as she single-handedly forces the Warlock to stumble a couple steps away from the open elevator. “Please continue. We’ll wait for the next lift.”

   “Nonsense,” Zavala protests and, with a tilt of his palm, highlights the empty space that could easily fit six fully-armored Titans. “You’re more than welcome.”

   “No, no,” the Hunter protests sweetly. “You go ahead. Have a lovely evening, Commander.”

   As the Warlock in the hall mirrors Zavala’s confusion, the Hunter leans into the elevator and pushes the button to manually close the doors. Zavala is still blinking as the two plates slide toward each other. He only just catches a glimpse of the Hunter hurriedly summoning her Ghost before the doors seal completely and the lift continues its journey upward.

   “What was that?”

   “Don’t know,” Athena admits as she pops back into existence. “Strange for sure.”

   Zavala arches a brow in a move Ikora would be proud of.

   “No, really!” Athena protests. “I’m as clueless as you. Now about that communicator…”

   “Not now,” Zavala growls.

   Athena huffs in a little, electronic reverb. Then the Ghost is gone in an angry burst of blue. The furrow is back in Zavala’s brow.

   A dozen more floors go by and, when the elevator stops again, Zavala confirms he’s made it to his destination without further incident. Zavala disembarks and covers less than two meters before Cayde-6 comes jogging around the corner. Zavala forgets his voice for a moment and, by the time he’s found it and settled his face, Cayde is upon him.

   “Cayde. Good evening.”

   “Emergency meeting,” Cayde declares without stopping. “You and me.”

   “Now is not a good-“

   The Hunter Vanguard cares nothing for Zavala’s excuses. Gloved hands snag the Commander’s elbow and all but drag the Titan back into the elevator. Zavala thinks to dig in his heels far too late for the idea to be of use. Once inside, the Exo abandons his grip on Titan armor and smacks the ‘close door’ button with little more than a targeting glance. As his left hand leaves the button, Cayde’s right hand is already emerging from a pouch at the small of his back.

“What the hell is this?” Cayde demands as he cuts right to the point. Cayde waggles his handheld communicator in front of the Commander’s nose, screen active and displaying an entire day’s worth of his messages to Zavala. An icon indicates they were never even opened.

   Strong fingers find a pressure point on the Awoken’s skull and physically push back the headache before it can start.

   _This is your fault for not dealing with this earlier_ , reminds a voice that annoyingly resembles his Ghost.

   When Zavala takes too long to respond verbally, Cayde turns and thumbs the button for the lowest level of the Tower.

   “Cayde, this is my floor. I was-“

   The Exo cuts off Zavala’s protest with the mechanical equivalent of a _tsk_ and smacks away the Titan’s hand when it tries to find the button to open the doors. A silent glare and a firm stance between the Titan and the control panel keeps Zavala from trying again. The elevator begins to travel downward. Cayde waits.

   “I was in a meeting,” Zavala explains, if only to break the silence. “There were duties afterward.”

   Metal plates shuffle in annoyance before slipping in an avalanche of grudging acceptance.

   “Okaaaay,” the Exo drawls in a way that says 'it's not really'. He flips the handheld device back around to look it over and begins scrolling with flicks of his finger. “I mean, yeah, I get that part. I guess, specifically, I meant what the hell is _this_?”

   The display comes back into Zavala’s view and Cayde has waded through a string of his own unanswered messages to find the one that started the whole text standoff. It is the message Zavala sent early this morning.

    Like opposing ends of two magnets, Zavala’s gaze is repelled by the words onscreen. He doesn’t need to read the message to know it word for word. He’s been agonizing over it all day.

   No matter. Cayde reads it aloud in case Zavala’s forgotten how to. “ ‘Thank you for yesterday afternoon. Though abrupt, it was appreciated.’ ”

   It sounds even worse given Cayde’s reading- a cold impression of Zavala’s gravest war room voice. It sounds like an excerpt from the worst debriefing in history.

   “What of it?” Zavala finally asks as he scowls at the descending numbers displayed above the doors. Cayde is really going to make him ride the damned elevator all the way back down just to guarantee they have this conversation. A conversation they would have had eventually- at a time Zavala deemed himself prepared - but once again the Hunter Vanguard proves he operates by his own schedule.

   “I’m just thinking it would have been nice of you to tell me you were nulling our agreement,” Cayde huffs as he stows away the communication device and shrugs in poorly cloaked hostility.

   That proves to be a bigger concern than the dwindling digits overhead.

   “Who said anything about nulling our agreement?” Zavala demands.

   “Seems a ‘thanks’ followed by absolutely no response is as good as ‘Don’t let the door hit ya on the way out.’ ” 

   “I told you I was busy,” Zavala protests in exasperation that’s already creeping toward something a bit more argumentative.

   “Hell! So was I. But not too busy to send you dozens of messages and make myself look like some kind of a...” Cayde shakes his head, unwilling to finish, and waves the thought away in favor of something else entirely. “Tell me, Zavala: do you always thank your one-night stands?”

   The edge to Cayde's voice digs harshly under Zavala’s skin, like a dulled blade. Having already had quite enough for one day, Zavala shoulders Cayde away from the controls. The Hunter stands no chance against Titan might now that Zavala can feel his blood simmering and Cayde’s heeled boots squawk against the floor as he fights to stay upright after the little nudge.

   “Whatever the hell put that idea into your head?” Zavala growls. “You think I would let you wheedle me down for five minutes of grinding in a public space? You think I’d insist on a damn set of rules if that’s what I wanted?”

   He leaves Cayde a moment to consider those words as he looks for his floor again. Before he can press a single button, the elevator decelerates and the doors open. A small group of Guardians wait in the hall to board but Cayde shoos them off with the agitated wave of a hand.

   “Elevator’s full,” Cayde calls to the waiting Guardians before reaching under Zavala’s arm to manually close the door on a range of surprised and curious faces.

   Zavala elbows Cayde a bit further out of personal space before jamming his thumb into the button for the lowest floor. He holds the button until his thumb goes white with pressure and the level is wiped from the queue. He punches in his own floor nearer the top of the Tower. The lift begins to rise. Zavala catches and squeezes Cayde’s wrist in warning when the Hunter reaches for the panel yet again. “The way I remember it, you abandoned me in the hanger yesterday moments after finishing. If anyone gave the impression that yesterday was a one-time thing, it was you.”

   “I’m sorry,” Cayde hisses insincerely and, instead of resisting the Commander’s grasp, uses the proximity to challenge Zavala nose-to-not-quite-nose. “Abandoned you? What was I supposed to do? Hold your hand all the way back to your room? We’re supposed to be keeping this under wraps.”

   “I’m glad you brought that up.” Zavala’s voice makes it clear Cayde’s in for less of a discussion than a lecture. “How does assaulting me in a public space count as keeping things under wraps?”

   The elevator stops and this time Cayde almost forgets to break away as the doors spring open on the same group of waiting Guardians from moments earlier.

   “Still full,” Cayde snaps, cutting over the chuckle of one helmeted Titan. Zavala closes the doors hurriedly.

   “Assault?” Comes the Exo’s snarl the moment they’re alone again. “I choose not to be outrageously offended by pretending you never said that. If anything, I think you mean seduced. But we definitely agreed to sex. Remember? You were _this_ close to making me sign a contract.”

   Of course, that claim is illustrated by scant millimeters between gloved fingers before the Hunter continues. “Either way, you were pretty damn into it. And that hanger spot is a sacred spot! Everyone, except you apparently, knows that what happens in one of the Tower’s Makeout Niches stays in that Makeout Niche.”

   “Makeout Niche? What in the name of…” It occurs to Zavala that he’s still grasping Cayde’s wrist- that he was when the doors last opened too. He shoves the limb away. “I remember how word spread after the lounge incident.”

   “Well, that’s because the lounge is definitely not an appointed Niche. Seriously, how do you spend all your time here and know nothing about the place? You need a map or something.”

   “That is not the point! We set rules and you showed a blatant disregard for-“

   A twist and a lunge later, the lift slams to a shuddering stop as Cayde dances between Commander and console and drags a hand down the rows of buttons- highlighting every floor and triggering an emergency stop.

   “Cayde!” The Titan crowds the Hunter against the wall, fists tangled in leather armor, and gives the Hunter one solid shove. The near tackle startles a grunt out of the smaller Vanguard and a dull thud echoes around the space as the Exo’s head bounces off the wall.

   “Zavala!” The Hunter challenges in identical tone. Cayde’s right boot finds the inside of Zavala’s left knee. He exerts no force but the threat is there- an old-fashioned knee break ready to go if Cayde decides he feels truly threatened.

   A frame’s bubbling voice filters through the speaker near the ceiling and shatters the tense standoff. “Hello! I see you’re experiencing a delay in your vertical transport. It seems the emergency pause has been activated. Are you experiencing an emergency?”

   “No,” Zavala rumbles toward the speaker while easing slightly away from the Hunter Vanguard, “just start the elevator.”

   “Belay that order,” the Exo counters coolly while looking Zavala dead in the eye. “We’re good here. Resume function by my Vanguard authority only.”

   “Cayde,” Zavala warns with a growl.

   “Oh! Mr. Cayde! Belaying that order, Sir.”                        

   “No,” Zavala insists. The frame’s eagerness to submit to Cayde’s authority is rather troubling but Zavala will investigate that later. “Override Hunter Vanguard authority. Execute order and resume normal elevator services. Voice recognition: Commander Zavala.”

   “Voice recognition validated,” the frame chirps. And in the same tone… “Override declined. Awaiting Hunter Vanguard authorization. Initiating lockdown.”

   Overhead lights dim. Emergency runners bathe the space in orange. Zavala hangs his head before half-heartedly smacking Cayde against the elevator wall.

   “Traveler take you,” the Commander swears softly toward the Hunter’s chest.

   The Exo’s chuckle is more weary than it is victorious when it lands on Zavala’s ears but it’s enough to make the Titan break away with one last dismissive push of his hands. Cayde offers no resistance in case Zavala wants to try that move again with a bit more venom but the mood passes, rage and aggression squashed by the knowledge that they are not going anywhere until Cayde says. Zavala takes a step back, then another and another until he slumps against the opposite wall.

    “This isn’t about rules.” The assertion floats toward the ceiling when Cayde tilts his head back and stares thoughtfully while mirroring Zavala’s slump against his own wall. “This isn’t about when or where we did anything, is it? This is about you, Zavala. Did you change your mind? Do you want to scrap our deal?”

   “…No,” Zavala sighs as he scrubs a hand across his face and along the smooth dome of his skull.

   “Then why are we fighting at all?”

   “Because you-" Zavala stops. He mutters an oath under his breath and begins again honestly. “Because…I…am embarrassed.”

   Cayde perks. The Exo stays glued to his wall but the confession has a metal spine straightening. Zavala tries not to think of it as the Hunter locking on to a weakness. Pushing down that thought, the Commander continues with as little eye rolling and huffing as he can manage. Which isn’t much given how ridiculous this whole affair has become.

   “I sent that message because I thought I was being courteous! Because I did enjoy myself and because I wanted to thank you! Then I couldn’t bear to read a single one of your replies because I could imagine how… _naïve,_ how needy, it must have looked.”

   Amusement creeps into Cayde’s near whisper. “Why are you shouting?”

   “Because I enjoyed myself!”

   The twisted confusion on Cayde’s face is completely justified. Zavala himself barely understands it. While there is no longer fear for the sullying of his station, there is the fear that Zavala has made a genuine mistake. The Awoken exhales. “Because I want to do it again even though I don’t need to and…”

    Zavala admonishes his cowardice with a shake of his head and…and Traveler above! The orange emergency lights are not helping his mood.

   “And?” Cayde prompts slyly as he pushes off his wall.

   “And I have no idea how to do this with you,” Zavala admits head aching and chest tight.

   Not quite halfway across the confined space of their temporary prison, Cayde pauses. The respectable distance helps as much as it doesn’t. It has been proven that mental faculties fade in inverse proportion to Cayde’s proximity but Zavala isn’t sure if he wants to think this through or to smother his jumbled thoughts of inadequacy with questing hands and burning Light. But the Exo waits, unmoving, and Zavala finds more words tumbling from his lips.

   “I have never sent a thank you note to a one-night stand given that I never once dallied with someone I already held a working relationship with. Confined to this Tower, the chances a day will pass when we do not interact are nearly nonexistent. I…fear the thought of inadvertently alienating you, Cayde. Of taking advantage of you in some way or inspiring resentment. I want our arrangement to continue but I frankly have no idea what the protocol should be here. So I apologize for that _ridiculous_ note. I promise it will not happen again.”

   A soft laugh escapes Cayde, just enough jaw movement to cast a brief glow against his scarf.

   “I don’t know, Zavala,” Cayde offers the barest hint of a shrug before resuming a slow pace forward, posture open in acceptance. “I actually thought the note was kind of charming.”

   Zavala snorts in disbelief.

   “I mean,” the Hunter’s hands flop at his thighs in an aborted gesture, “I’ve never had anybody thank me for a dry hump. Centuries old and there’s still a first time for everything, right?”

   The Awoken groans. Cayde is delighting in Zavala’s misery. What else is new?

   “Coulda done without the panicky cold-shoulder afterward but- “Cayde shrugs in a way that says it’s neither here nor there now. “Look, I got no expectations of aftercare or flowers, Zavala. If you want to thank me every time, that’s fine. If you don’t, that’s fine too. This whole deal was about getting what we need so, as long as we’re both getting that, you can forget all that extra junk. As for taking advantage of me-”

   The Exo’s dark chuckle paints a picture of implausibility.

   Glowing eyes shift as the Hunter shrugs again and his voice skews with a teasing boastfulness. “Though, if you want to see sex with me as a _gift_ that needs reciprocating then, by all means, send me something nice. You know where to have it delivered.”

   Zavala’s glare is positively as close as the Commander can come to telling Cayde to stuff it without using words. Which is not to say that Cayde’s words didn’t just lift a sizeable burden of doubt from broad shoulders.

   “Next time, I’ll send you a bouquet,” Zavala sneers.

   Cayde acknowledges the return jibe with a sarcastic finger gun and a flickering wink.

   “So,” Cayde chuckles heartily just an arm’s length away now. “Just to clarify; I’m not really mad at you and you’re not really mad at me?”

   “I am furious with you,” Zavala corrects with a broad indication of the emergency locked elevator but all the bite, and the very air, has gone out of his words by the time the Titan and Hunter stand toe to toe. His eyes sweep over the Hunter in an appreciation of long limbs and a trim torso- an appreciation Zavala had not processed until after his own limbs were tangled with those features. “If you had not started all this with your _game_ , I would not be trapped in an elevator with you thinking such inappropriate thoughts.”

   “Oh shit,” Cayde whispers almost sub-vocally in startled approval.

   Zavala grinds his teeth behind clamped lips because he hadn’t meant to say it quite like that and he certainly hadn’t expected a visibly stunned Cayde to be so maddeningly arousing in turn. When he’d confessed the desire for another go, Zavala had not been blowing smoke.

   There’s a quiet clicking from the back of Cayde’s throat that ends in a cough of white noise. The Exo’s hands find a place on Zavala’s waist but, like the Hunter himself, the twin scouts can’t stay still for long before they’re tracking the seams of the Titan’s armor.  Cayde speaks but only manages a bit of his usual gusto, “I’m real glad we didn’t ruin this whole thing because…well, you know there’re teenagers in the City who’ve done worse than what we did in the Hanger yesterday. Was kind of sore thinking some pup was gonna get luckier than me.”

   “This isn’t a contest,” Zavala frowns even as he grudgingly widens his stance to allow Cayde closer.

   “Don’t get me wrong.” The Hunter confides with a quirk of his head, “Yesterday was a bit of a bigger step than I’d intended but I signed on thinking we’d get a lot further- have a lot more fun- over time. I’m hoping you were under the same impression.”

   Even blue skin and orange emergency lighting can’t hide the rush of blood to Zavala’s face as he admits the fantasy that was partially responsible for prompting the morning’s thank you note. “Last night, I dreamt about bending you over the desk in my office.”

   Cayde’s eyes flicker and the lights of his throat flash twice as his jaw hinges mutely. The click of a rebooted voicebox later, static still bleeds into a whisper. “Ok then. That is a good to know. Real good.”

   Fingers find Zavala’s chin and line up full lips and smooth plates for a kiss but Zavala slips from the hold with an upward jerk of his head and gently wrangles Cayde’s hands away from his armor.

   “Not here.”

   The white plates of Cayde’s brow rise and fall in puzzlement. His gaping mouth flickers in an impressive but silent light show.

   “What?” the Exo finally manages to eek out.

   “Not here,” Zavala repeats with a hint of authority. “This is a public space.”

   “You’re funnin’ me,” Cayde accuses. He leans his entire weight into Zavala hoping to tempt with heat and a ridiculous ease of reach.

   The Titan does not yield. A firm but steady pressure on Cayde’s forearms creates space between their bodies again. Cayde’s metallic frame is not particularly light but Zavala does not strain, even using nothing but his arms. The Exo huffs in amusement of Zavala’s casual display of strength but is in no way deterred. Bringing his Light out to tease, Hunter carves a searing path from Titan’s jaw to groin without twitching a single finger.

   “We don’t have security cameras in here,” Cayde reminds.

   “I know,” Zavala’s inhale hitches even as he stares down his tempter.

   “And you know we’re on lockdown till I release us, right?”

   This time it’s a grumble. “I know.”

   “What if I’d really like to show you _my_ appreciation for yesterday.” Cayde’s frame literally hums to the tune of a fan picking up somewhere inside the Exo’s chest. Another soft whir is almost lost in the folds of Cayde’s hood. Captured fingers stroke at the parts of Zavala’s wrist they can reach while sparking heat spreads over the Awoken’s chest, up the back of his neck.

   The thrum of Zavala’s own veins is difficult to ignore.

   “I’d rather not spend the evening swabbing down the inside of my suit again,” Zavala admits with a twist of a dark brow.

   A bark of a laugh pops the Hunter Vanguard’s hum. “That was due to a lack of planning. Can we play if I promise to keep things tidy?”

   Zavala considers it for half a second. That familiar purring tone is convincing but… “I’m not stripping down in an elevator, Cayde.”

   “Then I won’t ask you to.” There’s an air of almost dangerous mischief in the glow of Cayde’s eyes and in the dip of his chin. “Well, just one piece?”

    If the Hunter had been moving any faster, Zavala might have jerked away from the armored knee slipping between his legs. But Cayde is alarmingly stealthy when he wants to be and Zavala doesn’t notice the armored plate until it taps pointedly against his codpiece. It’s not enough to stimulate, just enough to be heard over Zavala’s reluctantly contemplative hum.

   “We’ve got less chance of being interrupted here than we would in either one of our rooms,” Cayde argues and follows it up with self-deprecating laugh. “Besides, I’m really gonna need some help if I’m gonna make it anywhere without turning the head of every Light-wielder in the Tower.”

   That, Zavala is inclined to believe. Cayde’s Light bursting under his skin is like a sparkler burning too close to an unprotected hand.

   “Will that not dissipate on its own?” Zavala asks, genuinely curious. He’s seen the effect Light has an Cayde but still knows little about how it works.

   “Eventually. Though it’d go a helluva lot sooner if you helped,” Cayde hints heavily. “And since you helped cause this with your talk of desks…”

   With a conceding puff of breath, Zavala eases up on the pressure against Cayde’s arms and allows the Hunter closer- almost guiding mechanical fingers to smooth over the armor encasing his abs as he releases his hold- and allows his own hands to travel up Cayde’s arms, over his collar, and back down to a surprisingly warm chest.

   “Fine. But _clean_ ,” Zavala reminds.

   The Exo nods softly, just enough to count but very aware of the protruding horn inches from Zavala’s face, and his satisfaction is palpable.

   “Will do. First, I need you to do us both a favor and get this nice and wet.”

   A gloved-finger sneaks from Zavala’s torso and beyond the Exo’s parted lips to tap the soft floor of his mouth in illustration.

   ‘Wet’ will be no problem given the rush of fluid to Zavala’s mouth when he feels Cayde find the edges of his codpiece with clever fingers and Zavala connects some of the dots.

   “I’ve never done that before with…”

   “With an Exo,” Cayde finishes the faltering confession with another flickering wink. “Not surprising. It’s not exactly our signature move.”

   Zavala eyes the sharp edges of Cayde’s features.

   “But it’s not my first time either,” Cayde offers in level assurance.

   A curious part of Zavala’s brain wills him to ask how far experience reaches but the Commander quickly deems it inappropriate. Evidently, oral sex in an elevator is within the realms of this relationship but not questions of personal history. Instead, he asks, “How can I help?”

   Satisfied with the response, the Exo turns his head sideways to offer his profile as he maps out the plan using his own hand to demonstrate. “Take a couple fingers, slide them all the way to the back- until you can touch my speaker casing- then go up and there’s a squishy little nub. If you just kinda…”

   Cayde rubs two fingertips together. A low hiss of white noise rises from the back of the Exo’s throat and he affects a cough as he covers up and resets.

   “You don’t seem very certain about the whole thing,” Zavala notes with concern when Cayde’s eyes dim and dart away.

   “Oh, I’m sure! I’m just gonna vibrate out of this body if we don’t get the show on the road.” Cayde captures the Commander’s right hand and nips at gloved fingertips before opening his mouth obscenely wide. “Help us out, Zavala.”

   The fact that Cayde can still speak without moving his jaw is only slightly surprising or unnerving. Zavala reaches in slowly and does as instructed, momentarily hesitating over the fact that he hasn’t removed his glove. Cayde apparently has no such qualms and encourages the Awoken with a smooth stroke along his forearm. Again, Zavala is reminded of how shallow the Exo’s mouth is when dual fingers touch the metal mesh of a speaker and Zavala’s fingers are still visible just past the second joint. The mesh vibrates as Cayde instructs around the digits in his mouth.

   “Now up.”

   Zavala finds it as his knuckles ease past Cayde’s lips- the little bump in the back of the throat that feels similar to an Adam’s apple but tucked above and almost behind the speaker. Perhaps not the easiest location to reach solo but Zavala does not vocalize his suspicion that Cayde could do this himself if he put his mind to it. After all, there is something about his hand disappearing past slack metal lips that pleasantly speeds the Awoken’s pulse. Doubly so when Cayde does not dim or avert his eyes from Zavala’s mesmerized stare. Not knowing how sensitive it may be, Zavala barely trails a finger over the little nub. He is as surprised by the fluid that dribbles over his hand as he is by Cayde’s full-body shudder. And then there’s the groan. Zavala swallows heavily in sympathy and tenses with the urge to withdraw in case he’s misinterpreted that moan and possibly hurt Cayde, but the Exo grabs the wrist of the Commander’s submerged hand and prevents escape entirely. This is apparently just what Cayde intended to happen. The physical manipulation of some subsystem maybe. Zavala has temporarily lost his grasp on words and cannot ask for details. Cayde turns Zavala’s hand inside his mouth with gentle guidance until the Awoken’s palm lies face up.

   “Again,” Cayde orders. His voice is noticeably fainter with Zavala’s fingers interrupting the vibrations but his tone is nothing shy of demanding.

   Zavala complies, stroking the nub with the same ghost of force from before but, this time, the reluctant drips turn into a steady trickle- like a leaky tap. A static-laden groan is the only warning before the trickle gives way a quasi gel that sluices down the back of Cayde’s throat and rushes over upturned fingers to form a modest pool in the Awoken’s cupped hand. Cayde’s whine is more robotic than human and he surges forward so quickly that Zavala fears the Exo has stumbled. The hand not buried in the Exo’s mouth rises to a buzzing chest to prevent any further fall but Cayde squeezes the forearm still in his grip in silent assurance before he pulls slightly back and rocks forward again- purposefully forcing Zavala’s fingers into that little nub with vigor and releasing a veritable flood. This time the Exo hums in victory won as he soaks the Awoken’s hand and some of the clear, viscous lubricant oozes down the Commander’s wrist. Zavala’s breath catches long before Cayde’s free hand pries at the edges of his armored cup but it isn’t long before two hands scrabble at the piece of armor; Cayde’s- tremulous and atypically fumbling as another gush of fluid is forced from the Exo’s systems- and Zavala’s hand which swoops with the ease of years of familiarity with the intricacies of this armor set and a speed borne of desperation.

   Cayde pulls free of the hand in his mouth, twisting Zavala’s wrist when the Commander doesn’t catch on soon enough before wiping his sopping hand along the smooth floor of Cayde’s pseudo-tongue to smear the gathered fluid.

   The codpiece pops free of its clasps and clatters against the elevator floor a second before the clunk of Cayde’s armored knees follow. Working himself out of a hidden zipper and overlapping opening in his suit is quite the task that requires careful maneuvering on the Commander’s part even at half-mast. The way Cayde swats away Zavala’s hand before replacing it with his own has the Commander gritting his jaw and tossing back his head- thoughts of half hard instantly left in the dust.

   Zavala is physically not a small man, though neither is Cayde- their height being nearly identical and most of the difference in width attributed to Titan armor. Still, Cayde looks positively tiny when Zavala tries to watch the kneeling Hunter over the bulkhead of Titan chest plating. Also not helping are willfully disobedient eyelids that want to close in pleasure as the Commander strains to watch the tight sleeve of Cayde’s closed fist as it slides boldy over a deep blue cock.

   The leather of Cayde’s gloves is well kept, long ago broken in, and skin soft. It feels-

  “Perfect,” Zavala chokes out when his inhale and exhale run over each other.

   A squeeze at the apex of a stroke has Zavala bucking. Cayde’s soft laugh and even softer voice barely make it to burning ears.

   “You stole my thought,” Cayde chastises over a lengthy pull of heated flesh.

   If Zavala’s ears were burning before, they must be little more than ash after the Exo’s unabashed ogling and appreciative hum. The Awoken is well-endowed; that is not news to him, but it has been some time since the fact was appreciated. Cayde’s other hand, the one not practicing sin between armored thighs, pushes firmly against a clothed hip. The fingers naturally wander just a little into the dip of Zavala’s groin and play over deep, purple blemishes- the remains of almost gone bruising from yesterday’s fully-armored rutting. Cayde cannot possibly see them through obstructing fabric, but Zavala’s startled hiss must paint the picture. Scouting fingers drift back up to pin Zavala’s hip to the wall with a bit more emphasis. “Don’t thrust or you’ll hurt yourself again. Let me do all the work. If you’re capable of that.”

   He fails to form a proper retort, distracted by the considerate way the hand on his hip also brushes Zavala’s sashes and belts high enough to be out of the line of fire. Then that smart mouth settles around a circle made by mechanical index finger and thumb, leather clad digits offering a safeguard against harsh lip plates, before Cayde bobs his head forward and takes Zavala in without further warning.

   Zavala shouts a curse he hadn’t planned when he glides over the slick floor of Cayde’s mouth and bumps the speaker at the back.

   “Cayde!” Zavala clutches the head between his thighs, Hunter hood balling up as his fingers spasm in and out of fists. He remembers the slickness coating his right hand and possesses just enough faculty to jerk it away before it completely soaks through Cayde’s valued attire. The hand is then exiled to float and twitch futilely out to the side in an attempt at keeping Zavala’s own order of cleanliness. The remaining, clean hand slips beneath the hood to desperately palm the heated metal of Cayde’s head as his fingers search some protruding ridge to latch onto.

   The Exo takes Zavala’s outburst and flailing as a warning and uses his hand on the hip to map the distance between his horn Zavala’s lower belly before adjusting his angle slightly and resuming the thrust of his head with renewed vigor. There was nothing wrong with the angle before but now the Exo’s shallow mouth better opens to allow the head of Zavala’s cock to glide over slick, compact silicone and slip down a lightly striated throat. Like this, Cayde can nearly take all of him. What he can’t is tended to by the three fingers not forming a shield over sharp lips. Each thrust of Cayde’s head produces a wet squelch that helps stoke the fire building in the Awoken’s gut as Zavala slides between the harder ridges of Cayde’s upper pallet and the soft lower.

   Zavala finds himself choking back a stream of appreciative noises and Cayde continues thrusting, withdrawing, and stroking at the same impressive pace.

   Internal heat rises leaving the back of Cayde’s throat blazing but there’s a tortuous respite of cooler air that filters through the empty space in Cayde’s cheeks. A shiver runs down Zavala’s spine as an idea roots itself in his sex-addled brain. He allows his formerly exiled hand to find surging metal and braces his thumb and forefingers along a beveled cheek strut while his two smallest fingers reach in to brush himself experimentally. Cayde laughs a muffled, almost gurgling, noise as he catches on to the exploration and the Exo's delighted chuckle vibrates straight through Zavala. Cayde’s thrusts slow from their breakneck pace to something constant but teasing and he abandons his post on Zavala’s hip just long enough to sneak his own fingers in alongside Zavala’s. He brushes their fingers together playfully before easing his own over the hard line of Zavala’s erection and pressing down. The extra pressure forces flesh into the squishy silicone floor and creates a space more deliciously snug than the default gape of Cayde’s open mouth which, in turn, causes the Awoken to groan and bucks slowly as he chases the new sensation the length of Cayde’s fingers. Cayde tsks in admonishment but the sounds are masked by the lubricant that coats his speaker and they come out as wet pops instead. Slick with the same fluids, Cayde’s hand gives up the new trick to remind Zavala where his hips should be. The whine that slips past Zavala’s lips is absolutely unbecoming of a man of his rank but he doesn’t even hesitate to follow that whine with a breathless whimper.

   “Please.”

   Cayde comes to a dead stop, as if he’s forgotten how to move before a fine tremor makes itself known in the slick fingers against Zavala’s hip. Leaving the ring of his fingers intact around throbbing flesh, Cayde pulls his mouth away completely to speak- even though Zavala already knows jaw movement is optional. The usual baritone is thick with fluid and a little heady with something else. “Please what?”

   And honestly, Zavala can’t recall precisely what it was he thought he was asking for in the heat of the moment. Even without Cayde’s mouth in motion, Zavala is more than a little delirious with heat and arousal. _More_ is the general consensus here.

   “Allow me to move?”

   After a moment of what looks like honest, internal debate, Cayde shakes his head. “Any more and you’ll cut yourself somewhere you’ll regret it.”

   Cayde runs a finger along the pointed plates flaring from the flat of his nose, the hard edges of his cheeks. “You’re already squirming like a weasel in an oil slick.”

   Was he? Zavala had thought himself rather obediently still.

   “Then your fingers,” Zavala pants in attempted compromise. “In your mouth again? That feels incredible.”          

   Cayde hums low and pleased. Zavala duly notes the effect praise has and files that information away for later exploration as the Exo strokes slowly up Zavala’s full length.

   “Keep that armored butt to the wall or I’ll stop. Got it?”

   “Yes.”

   Metal lips again clamp over the circle of Cayde’s fingers and the Exo eases back over the Commander’s cock slowly enough to make the Awoken ache with anticipation. Cayde’s mouth is still delightfully slick. When three fingers slip in to gently pin flesh to synthetic material, Zavala melts against the wall. Why did he ever allow himself to give this up?

   The new pace is painfully, perfectly, agonizingly slow and deep. Strong thighs are reduced to trembling sticks in an embarrassingly short time.

   “Don’t forget about me,” comes a wet and distant-sounding reminder.

   “Of course,” Zavala rasps even though he largely has in the face of Cayde’s unexpected prowess.

   The Exo squeezes the hand atop his head, Zavala’s last real anchor, and strokes a Light-infused thumb over the knuckles in a hint before returning to tamping down the heavy flesh in his mouth. The Commander carefully pools Light in his hand - after two flustered and failing starts- and runs it over the Exo’s head, along the back of his skull where metal trembles with the force of that unseen fan. Zavala takes it upon himself to brush the Hunter’s hood back until it falls and settles around the nape of Cayde’s neck in an attempt at alleviating some of the heat building in the Exo. Then he returns to his task of spreading Light along every seam of teal and cream plating. An already strained voice box vibrates in approval and sends the sensation through the head of Zavala’s cock and straight to the base of his spine.

   Zavala swears Cayde deliberately waits until he catches Zavala trapped down his throat to say, “You’re getting better at that already.”

   The praise rumbles through Zavala and spurs him to add just a little more Light to each sweep of his hand over Cayde’s head until a pass causes the Hunter to twitch- elbows knocking against the raised armor of Zavala’s thighs. The sound that catches in Cayde’s throat nearly has Zavala forgetting to stay flat against the wall. Cleanliness be damned, Zavala enlists his previously exiled hand and adds it to the other alternately sweeping over and cradling a textured dome. The soiled hand catches Cayde’s protruding horn by chance but follows the structure by choice and Zavala is rewarded by a mechanical convulsion so strong that it forces Cayde to tear his mouth away and keen toward the floor.

   Zavala continues to lavish experimental attention on one of the Exo’s most noticeable features until armored knees scrape and rattle against the floor.

   “ _Shit!_ ”

   It barely reaches Zavala’s ears. Until Cayde’s curse grows a tail of similar words and the fervent swearing is all Zavala can hear over his own ragged breathing. It’s with visible effort that Cayde lifts his head again and sinks onto nearly purple flesh with purpose. Zavala tries not to use his grip on the back of Cayde’s head to grind himself deep down the Exo’s throat. Tries and fails. Cayde seems too busy matching the Commander's pace to punish him for leaving the wall. Sweat breaks out along the Commander’s back, the base of his neck. He’s close. He tries to increase his efforts to bring Cayde to some kind of finish. He’s not sure what kind of a sign he’s looking for beyond the increasing duration and rising pitch of Cayde’s whines. Which sound increasingly wanton with each harsh drag of the Commander’s Light-charged fingers. He wants to do the considerate thing but Zavala knows he will not outlast Cayde and is far too close to consider asking the Exo to ease.

   “I can’t last,” Zavala pants, eager yet reluctant. They have not even discussed… “Should I-“

   An electronic whimper squeezes from Cayde’s throat putting a needy warble to his reply. “In my mouth. It's ok."

   Zavala comes even quicker than he anticipated. He shoots what feels like a lifetime’s worth of release down that ribbed throat while Cayde sighs and both hands scramble against the Exo’s head as Zavala curls over the kneeling Hunter and gasps.

   He’s still a twitching, boneless mess when the fingers buried in Cayde’s mouth stroke the last shaky drops down an open throat. Cayde gently pushes Zavala’s hips back against the wall and follows with another push higher up until Zavala unfurls like a map against the wall. The same hand gently pries Zavala's grip from Cayde's horn though the Commander is allowed to continue half-consciously stroking over the back of Cayde's head. The Awoken’s skin is still sensitive enough from the mix of his own orgasm and Cayde’s Light to make him jerk as Cayde pulls off of his waning erection and the circle of finger and thumb scrape off most of the combined fluids.

   “Well, at least one of us is clean,” Cayde notes wryly as he spreads the fingers of his filthy glove before wiping at a precarious string of lubricant and come that stretches and threatens to snap off his chin. Glistening lines drip from the sides of Cayde’s open cheeks and paint the Exo’s jaw, partly from the speed of Cayde’s own enthusiastic thrusting and partly from the smearing of the Awoken’s clumsy, questing fingers.

   “That was exceptional.” Zavala sighs as he gently tucks himself back into his suit. Today, the damage is minimal, nothing that can’t be rectified with a little water and solvent.

   Cayde grunts something that resembles agreement and hands up the discarded codpiece using the barest tips of his fingers before rising. Zavala carefully snaps it back into place as tremors have not quite left him yet. He eyes the Exo who looks much the same as the moment they started aside from the sheen on his gloves and parts of his jawline and the disheveled hood. “Is…there something I can do for you? Were you able to…”

   The Exo laughs as he pulls a cloth from a back pocket- the one he uses to polish his gun at the Vanguard table during the most uneventful days- and wipes his face, then his hands. “You must have blinked and missed it. Don’t worry, I got mine too.”

   Blinked indeed. Zavala missed it completely. He’s not quite convinced Cayde is even speaking the truth. But he does not remember much of a concrete sign yesterday in the hanger either. Cayde offers his cloth to Zavala and the Titan waves it away- instead choosing to remove both his gloves and tuck one inside the other.

   “You’re certain?”

   Cayde gives him a look that shows exactly how certain he is and how little he appreciates the continued query. The way he flips his hood back over his head feels final. “I’m sure. You want me to get this elevator started or what?”

   After a last considering sweep of the Exo, Zavala nods. “Please.”

   Cayde shuffles at the control panel for a moment until he finally settles on pushing the call button with his driest knuckle. “Hey, Keni, get this box moving for us again.”

   “Yes, Sir!” Comes the pleasant reply of the same frame from earlier. “Right away, Mr. Cayde.”

   The elevator jerks up instantly and Zavala’s eyes roll toward the back of his skull before he exhales deeply.

   “You want me to walk you back to your room?”

   The throwback has Zavala shaking his head twice as hard in disapproving negative. “No.”

   “Alright,” Cayde shrugs but the snicker in his voice says he was never serious about the offer. “See ya around then.”

   Cayde transmats straight out of the elevator. Zavala scoffs incredulously before he calls on Athena. When the Ghost materializes and twirls inquisitively, Zavala holds out his gloves.

   “To our room, please.”

   Athena whisks the items away without more than the barest curious swivel.

   Zavala continues to raise his bare hand.

   “Device, please.”

   Athena eagerly drops the communicator in her Guardian’s hand and hovers low over an armored shoulder. Zavala grudgingly allows the Ghost to watch as he shoots a message to Cayde reminding him that transmats within the Tower are absolutely forbidden beyond emergency situations. And, after a moment of consideration, adds a confident note of thanks.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've noticed a rash of new kudos, comments, and bookmarks since the launch of D2. Welcome to all the new players! >


	14. AUTHOR CHAT- POLL RESULTS- BONUS FANWORKS!!!

Greetings! Guardians, lore hounds, the morbidly curious, the fic thirsty, *finger guns* the robophiles. Welcome, all!

Wow. THANK YOU!

Thank you for every hit, kudo, comment, and bookmark. Thank you for reading this at home, at work, at school...all the places you probably shouldn't be reading this fic. Thank you for sharing with your friends, siblings, partners, coworkers, and strangers who expressed even the slightest interest. You guys are AMAZING!

 

I promised some fun when we hit 777 kudos and we made it! We also passed 77 bookmarks at nearly the same time which is just bonus coolness! The celebration poll is now officially closed. And the winner, to nobody's surprise, is a new chapter of Steel! (Why did I put that on there? I knew ya'll wanted it.) In case you're interested, take a look at the results below.

A new chapter of Steel (34 votes)

Guide to Exo sex (15 votes)

Steel Shavings (companion piece) (10 votes)

Illustrated scene (7 votes)

Story cover art, Fan merch (1vote each)

Thanks for participating. That was my first time ever using strawpoll so if you have another poll site you prefer, be sure to let me know for next time. (7777 hits isn't far off...just saying) Because the winner was so obvious (what WAS I thinking?), and since you're going to get that chapter in the next couple weeks (yes!), second place is also moving up in the priority chain. Expect to see a meta piece about how Exo's do the do after the next chapter of Steel! Also, that one person who voted for fan merch; I'm interested to know what you're interested in.

 

NOW FOR THE REALLY FUN STUFF!  HOUSTON, WE HAVE FANWORKS! *silent screams* I had no idea there were so many people creating GORGEOUS Cayde/Zavala fanworks and I'm so jazzed to share them with you!!! UGH! SO EXCITED! I've acquired permission to post. Not all are directly influenced by this fic but all display a love of the pair. Now, prepare your body for links (because I want to make sure these artists and writers get the recognition they deserve. Be sure to give them lots of love so they'll keep creating.)

I won’t link all the Cayde/Zavala fics on AO3 (it’s a short tag to search) but I do want to mention this one by LieutenantWubs who expressly cited Two Kinds of Steel as inspiration.   http://archiveofourown.org/works/12096921

And here’s looots of art!

http://wikedgamervixen.tumblr.com/post/165462310962    

http://wikedgamervixen.tumblr.com/post/165280533652    

https://indigotote.tumblr.com/post/165395783418/hug

http://ontarom.tumblr.com/post/151281710356/inktober-3-puppy-eyes-a-titans-only-weakness

http://jona-draws.tumblr.com/post/165747719464/h-help-i-read-a-fanfic-and-it-hit-me-hard-so

http://fazique.tumblr.com/post/165635693838/click-on-the-pic-for-the-nasties-in-my-list-of

 

Let these fantastic works tide you over as I finish preparing the next leg of the journey. Look forward to more mischief, unusual Exo anatomy, integrated lore, side characters being boss, lots of feels, and plenty of spice. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

 

 


	15. D1: House of Wolves

   The moment the ship docks, a notification flashes on one of the many monitors scattered around Zavala’s corner of the war table. As per his orders, the notification is tagged priority- a spiraling star right next to the ‘all clear’ scan provided by the Tower’s newest scanning equipment. His current task of assigning the next rotation of wall patrol is temporarily pushed aside by relief and Zavala smiles.

   “Uh oh, Ikora,” comes a poorly hushed tone, “I think the monotony finally broke our Commander.”

   The Warlock Vanguard hums in joking agreement.

   Zavala marshals his expression out of habit and glances at his compatriots to acknowledge he’s heard their soft teasing. Ikora pretends not to be sneaking side-glances from over her handheld but allows Zavala to catch her in the act just once and she graces him with a small smile. Cayde, however, makes no effort at subtlety as he stares at Zavala’s lips with what starts as friendly amusement before slipping into an open fixation that is a bit less work appropriate. The Commander smooths over his lower face with a pull of forefinger and thumb to be sure there are no lingering remains of his smile. It’s not as people joke. He does not allow himself only one facial movement a day. Rather he is doing his level best to reestablish his reputation as a reserved, constant leader after a few weeks of…well, vault-side chatter. Cayde has already assured him the rumors of their supposed coupling in the lounge have become all but forgotten legend by this point, and while the use of ‘legend’ is a bit more lasting an impression than Zavala had hoped for, he has noted a blessed decrease in the number of eyes pinned to him as he goes about his daily life. This is especially a relief seeing as how eye contact with the Hunter Vanguard himself has been something of a mixed experience in the days after their impromptu ‘emergency meeting’ in a certain elevator. Clearing his throat, Zavala explains his facial tic as he confirms the electronic notification. “Lord Saladin has finally arrived.”

   “He’s a week later than we expected him,” Ikora muses overtop the latest Venus report. “Shaxx will be relieved.”

   A snort rolls in the back of Cayde’s mouth. “You mean _we’ll_ be relieved now that Shaxx has a proper target.”

   The Awoken clears his throat again- this time to distract Cayde from further commentary. It is true Shaxx has been alternating between steely indifference and barely suppressed hostility since the moment he, Ikora, and Arcite stumbled over Titan and Hunter Vanguards locked in an obvious tangle atop the war table. Though the attitude might not greatly differ from Shaxx’s usual, Zavala is keenly aware of how Saladin’s visits tend to heighten barely suppressed emotions and Zavala is not looking to be reminded of a blowup that’s still a few precious moments away. Life has been remarkably peaceful since the fall of Crota. Patrols, strikes, and even the occasional special op have been running without a hitch. It’s best if Zavala greets his old mentor as soon as possible and subtly warns the elder Titan away from Shaxx’s corner so that they may continue to enjoy peace and minimize the opportunity for passionate outbursts. Not that they can be avoided entirely. But it always helps if Shaxx has time to adjust to Saladin’s arrival before estranged master and student are forced to run the Crucible in tandem.

   The Commander accidentally allows a sigh to escape. “I’d like to help Lord Saladin settle in. If my absence here is acceptable.”

   Ikora offers a reassuring, “Of course, Zavala.”

   At the same moment, Cayde promises, “I’m gonna tell all your Titans you resigned and left me in charge. I could use a chuckle.”

   It’s good to see the Exo’s mischievous habits and need to rattle the chain of command have not changed after Titan and Hunter settled into their sexual agreement- proving Cayde’s assertion that the two can plausibly separate their physical relationship from their working one. Though Zavala wouldn’t mind some simple affirmation of authority on a day like this. The Commander narrows his eyes at Cayde. “Don’t do that.”

   And because it is still sometimes difficult to tell the difference between joking hypothetical and sincere intentions, Zavala pauses as he walks behind Ikora to mutter, “Don’t let him do that.”

   Ikora chuckles but whether she thinks Zavala is furthering the joke or not, the Commander intrinsically knows he can count on her to keep order while he’s upstairs. Of course, Cayde hears the command that he be monitored but the Exo shows his concern, or lack thereof, with a rise of shoulders that can barely be categorized as a shrug. While Ikora vows to protect Zavala’s active status with her eyes still trained on her work, backlit Exo eyes flick down the length of Zavala’s body and back up then pause again on Zavala’s lips before locking gazes with the Awoken.  Acute awareness of the move and dogged willpower are what keeps Zavala from running his fingers across his mouth again. He knows nothing but Cayde’s keen interest rests there. It may be time to arrange for another discreet encounter if the Exo’s behavior is any indication of true desire and not simply actions meant to tease.

   They have done well following what Zavala has come to call ‘the Elevator Incident.’ Cayde has since marked the occasion with a far more colorful and long-winded description, dubbing it ‘that time I went down on you while you were trying to go up’ almost exclusively. Since the _event_ , their flirtations have been few and far between and carefully withheld in public. Which is not to say they have been perfect. Every now and then, Zavala will catch Cayde’s eye across the war table or vice versa and there’s a slightly charged undercurrent to the next operations proposal or an unnecessary heat accompanying a patrol update. Zavala recognizes the exchanges for what they are- the thrill of discovering a new lover worming its way into daily activities when this early stage of all Zavala’s previous relations included much less paperwork and far greater amounts of frenzied sex. Not a habit easily reclaimed in the face of two Vanguard schedules, unfortunately.

   Cayde-6 has resumed his slouch over his ever-changing map by the time Zavala crests the stairs and steals a glance backward. The pose reminds Zavala of a particular dream taking place in a particular Vanguard office. Yes, Zavala absolutely commits himself to a private meeting with Cayde sometime in the next day or so.

   Traversing the meters beyond the lip of the war pit come first, however, and that task is more difficult to commit to. Lord Shaxx has always been a passionate man so a distinct lack of booming commentary- frustration, sass, and praise in varying degrees- leaves a silence as obvious and ugly as a gaping wound in the Hall of Guardians. Even Arcite seems particularly quiet as the combat frame busies itself between trepid looks across the way. Contractors and technicians skitter along the outskirts of the tension simmering on the southern side of the hall as if there were some emotionally turbulent version of a Defender’s shield hogging the space. Zavala breathes deeply before striding into the unpleasant bubble.

   “Lord Saladin is here,” Zavala announces as neutrally as possible to the slumped, mono-horned form responsible for the roiling displeasure choking the air.

   “And I’m supposed to care?” Shaxx murmurs, not looking away from his monitor and the ongoing match.

   He doesn’t spit, he doesn’t swear, he doesn’t shout. Perhaps Shaxx’s grudge has taken a less hostile and more accepting form today. It’s enough to make Zavala press his luck.

   “You are welcome to join us,” Zavala tries. Ordering nothing. Still hoping. “As always.”

   “I’m busy,” Shaxx rejects with zero effort. He does extend a single, vertical finger. “But send my regards. As always.”

   They are long past the insult of such gestures and Zavala doesn’t so much as raise a brow. Shaxx is entitled to his feelings even if they do place a strain on multiple aspects of Zavala’s life. That is sometimes a consequence of friendship. Regardless, Zavala will not allow Shaxx to dim Saladin’s return to the Tower.

   “As you wish.” Zavala keeps things clipped so as not to give his building sigh time to execute another escape. “I will tell him you are well.”

   Shaxx does not acknowledge the Commander’s departure for one of the side doors though a helplessly frustrated grumble from Arcite follows Zavala out.

 

_____________

 

   Hidden corridors zig and zag and branch off toward a dozen vital locations within the Tower. Zavala passes the staircase leading down to the armory and ascends the steel steps that continue all the way up to Owl Sector’s situation room. The Tower’s affiliated researchers are not the Commander’s goal, however, so the Titan stops at a landing several floors shy of their space and slips through a set of blast doors that open onto the crisp air of the Traveler’s Walk. Barely beyond the doorframe, iron blocks the majority of his view and Zavala pauses to caress the curve of the hanging medallion fondly. The Iron Medallion is older than Zavala’s entire Risen life. A reality that seems almost impossible some days. Yet Zavala remembers the first time he saw this particular piece and how worn the artifact looked even then. It seems a lifetime away: the time when the Iron Lords would hang the Great Seal in the town square of villages they liberated from pain and oppression or at the front gates of vanquished Warlords’ fortresses to announce a change in ownership.

   As Zavala rounds the seal, an even more familiar metal greats him. The high sun glints off golden trim and affection swells in the Commander’s chest. “Welcome, Master Saladin.”

   The figure slows, heavy armor shifting as the Titan settles a weapon crate among several of its brothers. Gloved hands ease the Iron Lord’s helmet off until Zavala is gifted the sight of a warm smile crooking dark, weathered skin.

   “Zavala! It is good to see you again.” As he settles his helmet atop the chests that no doubt hold other rewards for the Iron Banner, playful suspicion narrows Saladin’s soulful eyes. “Though I feel I should point out you have not called me ‘master’ in ages.”

   Zavala grows suddenly self-conscious. He had almost forgotten the timbre of the other Titan’s voice unaltered by helm or comms. It is a comforting sound but one that perhaps takes Zavala a bit too far back in their shared history when any rebuke from the elder Titan would have been an almost painful blow. “Please forgive me. It was meant in respect.”

   “Of course, there’s no harm done. But we are equals, Zavala,” Saladin protests lightly as he descends the short steps of the Iron Medallion’s stage with an open hand. “For many years now.”

   Zavala takes the offer and clasps his hand to Saladin’s forearm and allows the Iron lord to do the same in turn. “I suppose some part of me will always remember you as my Master.”

   Saladin chuckles in a smooth rumble, still pleasantly confused, as they naturally break contact. The Iron Lord takes his time sizing Zavala up and, despite claims of equality, there’s a wonder in dark eyes as if they’re seeing a child that has somehow finally grown despite being hundreds of years old. Zavala recalls a similar sense of approval when he was first inducted as the Titan Vanguard.

   “Honestly, what has you in such spirits?” The human presses with mystified intent.

   Zavala aborts a shrug, palms fluttering out momentarily and laughs a startled puff of breath. “I am pleased to see you. Is that not enough?”

   “No…” Saladin argues gently while staring down his former pupil. “Very little makes you so happy...much the same as very little soothes Shaxx.”

   Salt and pepper brows pause, suspended in a sidelong glance and the age-old question need not be asked verbally.

   “He is, regrettably, otherwise occupied,” Zavala offers as explanation of the Crucible Handler’s absence.

   Saladin adjusts the fit of his bracers in slow thought. “It has also been many years since you tried to shield me from his actions.”

   The Awoken hadn’t meant to dredge up old blood by falling back into well-meaning but dishonest customs.

   “He chooses to remain in the Hall,” Zavala confirms. “I’m sorry.”

   Saladin nods reluctantly though with no visible surprise. “It is not your place to apologize. I will seek him out before I disembark. Now, back to your mystery. What has put a gleam back in your eyes?”

   Zavala might as well have been struck. A rogue smile is something he can rectify but he supposes there’s very little he can do about his eyes if, in fact, there is some physical anomaly. Saladin is still waiting for a reply and the closest Zavala comes is to closing his startled mouth again. He had quite forgotten his mentor could have such a persistent sense of curiosity. Or maybe it is just an old wolf’s nose still sharp for the scent of embarrassing details when it comes to his former-students’ lives.

   “You seem…lighter,” the human all but smirks. If he were a more physically affectionate man, Saladin might be rubbing an elbow into Zavala's ribs about now. “To whom do I owe my thanks?”

   Surely Saladin cannot see such a change. To insinuate that some _one_ is the cause for Zavala’s buoyant mood… It is awkward enough for Ikora and Shaxx to know of Zavala’s most recent intimate doings. Zavala is ill-prepared to admit to his mentor he has taken up activities that very nearly ended his career in the Tower before it had a chance to begin. Thank the Traveler, Saladin picks up on his fellow Titan’s discomfort and just as easily lets the Commander off the hook.

   “No,” the elder Titan shakes his head and holds up a conceding palm. “No, as long as you are well, keep your secrets, Zavala. But if there is indeed a party responsible for your newfound sense of ease, let them know I am grateful. I worried you would never overcome the hurdles you set for yourself. Perhaps there is hope for all of us to forget our past sins?”

   Zavala comes very near to succumbing to a twisted sense of guilt and naming a name when he catches the buzz of voices growing at the tall shutters separating the Traveler’s walk from the plaza beyond. It seems news of Saladin’s arrival has spread already and Guardians are eager for the challenge Saladin’s Iron Banner Crucible brings. The Iron Lord can hear the hubbub as well and a resigned hum vibrates in his throat.

   “It seems duty calls,” Saladin toes a nearby crate into position, “and forces our reunion to be brief.”

   “How long will you stay?”

   “The usual length of time. Providing nothing calls me away prematurely.”

   “Then let us catch up tonight over dinner,” Zavala suggests. It is their tradition each time Saladin graces the Tower and, if given enough time to contemplate the idea, Zavala may find himself comfortable enough to share the news about Cayde.

   “Agreed. And I believe it is your turn to make the arrangements. Send the details to my Ghost and we shall see you later this evening.”

   A nod of confirmation passes between them and Saladin ascends the stage where he slips his helm back into place to offer the most formidable front to the Guardians who will soon attempt to prove themselves. Zavala expectantly waits just a moment longer, until Saladin’s Ghost delivers an impressive battle ax into his Guardian’s hands. At the barest crackle of Saladin's Light, flames spring from the relief of the Iron Tree cut into the ax's head. The Titan tips his weapon to the Iron Medallion and Light-infused flames engulf the ancient metal in turn, hiding any old scratches and dents behind a wall of power and heat. Only now can the Iron Banner officially begin.

 

_____________

 

   Shaxx’s mood has somehow fouled further by the time Zavala has scheduled a service frame to unlock the shutters at the back of the plaza and returned to the Hall of Guardians. As the Commander passes, Shaxx is shouting, presumably at a Guardian mid-match, that they’d ‘better get your head on right before someone blows it off again’ followed by the no-less ominous threat that ‘Anyone who pulls out mid-match to queue under the Iron Banner will find themselves banned from _my_ Crucible for the rest of their subsequent lives!’

   Zavala rubs his forehead uneasily but does not bother to stop before reaching the war pit.

   “What is the _deal_?” Cayde demands in an incredulous and exaggerated whisper the second Zavala’s steps level out. He nods in the Crucible Handler’s general direction in case it wasn’t clear enough which Tower resident is currently the most troublesome. “If he pops a vein, we’re practically in the splash zone.”

   Zavala’s response is cut off before it begins when he notes a distinct lack of pink at Ikora’s station.

   “In her office,” Cayde supplies when he catches the Commander’s puzzlement. “Some Hidden emergency. And don’t worry, I didn’t even get to try the thing.  Not a single reporting Titan since you left. Ugh. What do you even do all day?”

   Cayde’s playful disgust almost wrenches another smile out of Zavala but he catches it just in time. “You’d be surprised at the number of documents that see my signature each day.”

   “Wow, that’s…incredibly boring.” Cayde’s eyes blink on and off as he shakes his head and straightens before bringing the conversation back around. “Forget about paperwork, I wanna know what crawled into Shaxx’s helmet and died this morning. Is this all because Saladin’s hanging around? I’ve been eavesdropping and they only said about ten words to each other over comms. Ten words to divvy up the entire Crucible! I’ve seen longer conversation’s about how to cut a cake, ya know?"

   “Time heals all wounds,” Zavala murmers, “but the same was never said to be true of egos.”

   The Exo snorts even as he nods in agreement. “I know there’s history between them but I don’t think I’ve ever seen it this bad. You sure you can’t get them to make up?”

   “I’ve tried,” Zavala rests his eyes at a particularly violent reprimand that explodes from Shaxx’s station. “Gods, how I’ve tried.”

   Cayde shakes his head sympathetically and rests a hip against the table before crossing his arms and staring off into the far wall.

   “Stop,” Zavala interrupts the Exo’s obvious thought process. “If you’re trying to think of a way to rectify the situation for me, don’t. This is not a reconciliation that can be forced. And as long as they are capable of working alongside each other, we will all have to let the rest lie.”

   The plates around Cayde’s eyes shift skeptically but Zavala ends the conversation with a firm shake of his head.  

   “Fine,” the Exo accepts before his entire posture changes- tense brace against the war table sinking into an easy lean- and blue eyes flash a little brighter. “Wanna blow off some steam instead?”

   Zavala subtly checks their surroundings despite the whispered nature of the proposal. They are still as alone as Two Vanguards can be in the Hall of Guardians. The thought of Zavala’s office door, and the desk behind it, beckon to the Commander but he must shove aside temptation for another time. “Not at this moment.”

   “Tonight?” The speed of Cayde’s counter is flattering for sure.

   “I’m afraid not. I'll be out to dinner with Lord Saladin.”

   Cayde’s shoulders sag and Zavala almost feels a pout coming on before the Exo turns back with vigor. “Yeah? What time?”

   “We haven’t decided,” Zavala admits cautiously. “I’m to make the arrangements. But, Cayde, our outings are usually lengthy. I really will not have the time to indulge afterward. I’m-“

   “You still stuck on that?” Cayde flaps a hand carelessly to clear the subject. “Don’t worry about it Zavala. You and I can fool around some other time. I was thinking about your dinner. You should take Saladin to Encini’s down in the Peregrine district. Fantastic steaks! Real beef, not synthetic stuff. Just got voted best dinner service in the East Quad too.”

    Zavala takes a moment to wrap his head around the shift. “Oh. Thank you. For the suggestion.”

   “No problem.” Cayde offers a companionable pat to Zavala’s shoulder guard and follows with a flashing smile. “Now if you don’t mind, some of us have work to do.”

   Zavala is still contemplating the smooth jump from sexual proposition to restaurant recommendation when the door leading to the Vanguard offices slide open to admit Ikora back into the war room. Silently reminding himself he has nothing to look guilty about, Zavala does not rush as he takes up his spot at the head of the table and everything falls into the rhythm of business as usual.

 

_____________

 

   “I don’t understand it,” Athena’s usually soothing cadence edges toward a more put-upon huff with every hall they travel. “It was our turn to pick. I made reservations and everything!”

   “The first day of Iron Banner is always a long one,” Zavala rationalizes. He had hardly been back to his quarters and was still in full gear when a Tower frame delivered an urgent message to his door announcing a change of plans. “I’m sure Saladin must have forgotten in all the activity and scheduled dinner himself. It’s not an issue.”

   Athena’s frustrated warble says otherwise as she floats next to her Guardian’s now unarmored shoulder. Zavala’s dress shoes clack against the polished, multicolored tile of the Tower’s dining district as they hurry along. Saladin certainly didn’t allow the Awoken much time for a change of clothes and a prompt arrival.

   “I’m only saying that it’s very unlike Lord Saladin to make such an error,” the Ghost persists. "And you know how much it irks me to cancel reservations!"

   “What’s done is done,” Zavala has resigned himself to the fact that he will be late by the time he finally mounts an outdoor staircase to the second story of one of the Tower’s more upscale dining locations where Saladin's message indicated a room would be waiting for them. “I’m sure we’re still in for a fine evening.”

   Once inside the warm glow of the restaurant, Zavala nods to the smartly-dressed Exo behind the counter and she leads him past a reasonably full dining hall and down a short corridor without so much as needing to ask his name.

   “Your party is waiting, Commander,” the Exo notes before indicating the private room beyond a thick curtain. “Another bottle is on its way. Our gift. We hope you enjoy yourself.”

   Zavala whispers the words ‘another bottle’ as he straightens his sweater and checks his tie but the Exo is already gone and Athena is just as lost as he is. He isn’t left to ponder long when a couple of familiar voices begin rising steadily. With sinking dread, Zavala brushes aside the curtain just enough to peek into the room. Two Titans stand squared off on either side of a polished table growling accusations that fly above glossy china.

   "Oh, yes," Athena whispers glibly as Lord Shaxx and Lord Saladin continue to argue at frightening volumes, "we're in for a _very_ fine evening."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was just too long between Titan dinner and upcoming adult scene so I finally caved and split the chapters.
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> [visit me on tumblr? :D](https://fox-fic-and-ink.tumblr.com/)
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